The Lion with Antlers
by TheHatMan98
Summary: Bruce Lannister is the green eyed, black haired son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. After being parcelled around between Lannister and Baratheons he finally begins to make a name for himself. But with his older brother and Mother seemingly set against him it does prove difficult. But the Game is long and has many players and it doesn't to take a lot to make a difference.
1. Prolouge Part 1

Cersei's hands trembled with terror at what had just occurred. Her mind buzzed with rage at what she had seen what the midwives had helped her spend nearly an entire day force out of herself. An old leather faced croon croaked at her. "Are you well, M'lady?"

Cersei shuddered in spite of her self, still weary from the labour she breathed out "Find my Brother. Now." The midwife bowed and left her side and the room to carry out the Queen's request. Cersei dismissed the remainder of the midwives and the decrepit Grand Maester pinning with lust over the young heart-faced red head nearest to the door. "Rancid old goat." snorted Cersei as she turned her nose up the grey haired Grand Maester as he left her chambers.

Cersei cast a glance to her left at the small bundle sleeping in the layers of cloth he was cast into when it fell out of her. 'No! No! No!' she screamed inside her head as she starred at it. It couldn't have been possible it should have been another golden lion shinnig in sunlight when it came into the world instead, drafted in darkness it clawed it's way out of her and almost split her in two to do it. 'That oaf Robert.' she thought 'The thousands of bastards he could have thrown into any woman he pleased he just couldn't have not put one in her.'

At that moment Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer strode into the room resplendent in his shining armour and white cloak flapping behind him. "Come to me, my love." Called Cersei reaching her hand out to her twin. "It's all gone so terribly wrong for us." She told him as he grasped her hand and tears began to well up in her eyes.

"What is wrong, my dear Cersei?" he asked, his green eyes shimmering with concern for his other half, "Is it stillborn?" Cersei shook her head. "No, look. Look at the monster." she spat her finger stretched out indicating the bundle near the window.

Jaime approached wary of the new born wrapped in sheets. He looked down at the pile of silk and saw the round faced baby that occupied them. He gathered it all up in his arms, the babe's head resting in crevice of his elbow. Jaime removed the cloth guarding the sleeping new born's hair and gasped at what he saw. He looked bewildered at Cersei. "Robert's?" Cersei nodded and sniffed, "The monster did this to me."

They stood in solemn silence in the presence of the sleeping baby. "I'm an Uncle." Jaime jested. Cersei's eyes narrowed at Jaime, whose eyes simply kept switching in between her and the baby. "Kill it." she spat in disgust. Had Jaime been eating he would have choked "What?!" he cried. "Kill it!" she shouted kicking her bed sheets away from her. "Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!" _"No!"_ He bellowed back at her as she tried to scramble toward him.

This met with disapproval from the baby, as well as Jaime, whose eyes flicked open to find rather than it's Mother, Jaime looking at it instead. "I stop at killing Kings, Cersei. If you want me to kill a baby, send for Gregor Clegane." he said his voice full of venom toward his beloved Sister.

Cersei stopped a steps within reach of the baby scowling. "Why!?" she demanded of him. Jaime took a final glance at the babe in his arms and looked deep into it. Jaime's reply was simple. "Look at him." He said, pushing his arms forward so Cersei could take it from him. She backed off her face contorted unto a look of rage at the repugnant beast in his arms. "I have." she snorted, arms crossed along her chest, "Why do you think I want him dead?" Jaime forced the baby into her arms. "The eyes, Cersei."

The baby's look of confusion at the Kingsguard who had been hold it change when it was presented with it's mother and grew his first smile and Cersei saw it. A pair of green shimmering eyes. Lannister eyes. The tears that had been weld up in her eyes fell.

Cersei Lannister suddenly abandoned all notion of ever killing this baby. Her son. He would never be a lion like Joffery but it was still her son and she would be a mother to him regardless. Jaime looked at his love and knew she saw it to. She had seen it when Joffery had been born and wept as she did now. Cersei, now sitting on the edge her child now curled up toward her face as it tried to reach out and touch his mother.

"What's it's name?" questioned Jaime "I don't know. Robert told he I could name him, given he couldn't even be there to name his first born." Cersie thought long and hard. "If he is going to look like a Baratheon, he should have name like Baratheon." Said Jaime looking at the two "Bruce." replied Cersei, finally "Bruce?" questioned Jaime "Yes," said Cersei

"Bruce of Houses Baratheon and Lannister." she held her son out her hands gripping him beneath eack armpit the child then beltched at it's mother and burst into a fit of giggles. Jaime smirked "He definatly will take after Robert." Cersei looked at the window the sun starting to shine through it. "I don't care."


	2. Prolouge Part 2

Tyrion had spent his first days back in King's Landing as he did everyday in Casterly Rock. Drinking and whoring. A morning spent in one of the cities brothels was more than a days worth of entertainment for him and, as he did everyday when the sky began to turn to dusk, he walked through the gardens of the Red Keep toward the great hall to eat his final fill of the day. Though today would be rather different.

Tyrion found himself stopped dead in his tracks from the noise coming from the bottom of a rather large tree to his left. Tyrion new the noise well, it was that of a whimpering child. He had made such noises enough as a child himself to be able recognise them in his manhood. The dwarf approached the tree in an attempt to see which of Cersei's children had been reduced to tears. As he grew closer he recognised the black hair of his second nephew. 'Poor boy, Cersei may be his mother but she does show little herself in the boy.' Thought the imp as he approached the weeping boy. "My dear Nephew, what ever is wrong with you?" The child looked at his Uncle tears streaming down his cheeks. His cheeks were flushed red and snot ran free from his nose, he turned away from his Uncle as fresh tears were barked back up. Tyrion drew even closer toward the young prince and placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. "Sweet Bruce, tell me whatever is the matter with you."

Tyrion flinched backwards when the boy flung his arms around his neck and clung to him, as if for dear life. The imp had never spent that much time with his nephew and couldn't believe that he was showing this much love for him. He didn't know what to do so he let the boy continue crying. "D... Don't take me back to h... him." he splutered out, his tears and snot begining to stain his Uncle's shirt. "Who?" asked Tyrion, as his hand patted the mop of black hair atop his Nephew's head. The boy sniffed. "M... Maester, said I was like plank of wood." he coughed "That I'd always be like it if I couldn't read an' I-" Tyrion shushed the boy and pushed him back to look him in the eye. "You can't read?" Bruce fell silent prefering to look at his feet. Tyrion pressed the boy to answer him, he shook his head and now looked more despondent and ashamed than any child had ever been before. Tyrion was shocked "How old are you?" Bruce looked increasingly intrested in the floor and merely murrmered something incoherrent. Tyrion reached his hand up to his Nephew's chin and pushed it up to face him. The boy finally chocked out, "Seven." Tyrion frowned."Come with me." he then grabbed his Nephew by the wristed and dragged away from the tree.

"No!" shouted the prince and stamped his foot on the ground in protest "I won't go back to him!" Tyrion viewed is Nephew, he certainly was stubborn like Cersei "You are not going back to the Maester, but neither are you going to stay illiterate." said the imp firmly and pulled on the princes wrist again. This got his Nephew moving. "What you mean?" he asked lip trembling. "I am going to teach you." Tyrion said,pride emmenating in every this didn't set well with the prince either so he stomped his foot again. "No! You'll be like Joffery!" This took Tyrion by suprise, his mismatched eyes narrowed at him "What do you mean?" Bruce tugged his arm free and became fascinated with the ground yet again, and yet again his Uncle pressed him for answers. Bruce sniffed "Joffery. He said he show me how to read and when I couldn't he... he hit me. And then I hit back and he told mother and the-" he stopped wipe away the fresh tears and looked at his Uncle who now looked at the ground aswell. Tyrion sighed pulled the boy toward him, "I promise Bruce so long as I am with you no one will ever hurt you." Tyrion the brushed his tears away with his thumb. Bruce smiled at him and wrapped his arms around his Uncle.

As they were about to cross the threshold into the Red Keep, Bruce stopped and looked to his Uncle "Mother said I'm to go to Caserly Rock soon." he said timidly "Will you come with me?" Tyrion pondered for a moment was he willing to suffer his retched father for the sake of his Nephew, 'If Cersei's sending him to The Rock it'll be for nothing good i'm sure' Thought Tyrion, he smiled at his Nephew "Of course I'll come with you, little one." Bruce smilled at him and hugged his waist "Now come I've a book about the Dragonknight I'm sure you'll love."


	3. Prolouge Part 3

The Royal Party had set an hour ago headed straight into the forest outside the King's Landing where King Robert spent much of Summer hunting. However this was no ordinary hunt this was an ancient ritual. A hunt which all Baratheons had to take part in ever sine they had been seated at Storm's End by Aegon Targaryen. On their 14th name day every Baratheon boy would venture on a hunt and make a kill, alone with a weapon of their choosing to prove themselves worthy of the name Baratheon. The Baratheon in question here was King Robert's second son, the Prince Bruce. Alot was riding on Bruce's shoulders as the hunt of King Robert's lawful heir, Joffery, had enraged the King. While the kill itself had been not been the issue, a boar with tusk's as large as the King's own Warhammer, Joffery's method had repeatedly questioned by the King. "Fuckin' Crossbow!" he would often sneer at Joffery when they would meet. Bruce himself new little else of what had happened at the time of the hunt being in Highgarden with his second foster, his Uncle Renly at the time, but he was determined not to make the same mistake as his brother.

The whole party numbered 30 in total; Prince Bruce, King Robert and his squire Lancel Lannister, Master-of-Ships Lord Stannis, Master-of-Laws Lord Renly, Crown Prince Joffery and his Sworn-Shield Sandor Clegane, Robert's Hand Jon Arryn, Tyrion Lannister the Imp, and the 3 of the Kingsguard; Ser Barristan, Ser Jaime and Ser Arys as well a dozen or so Lannister guards.

Leading the party was the young prince in his armour, shinning silver double-plated steel with the Baratheon's crowned stag covering his chestguard, his shoulders were guarded by two roaring lions of Lannister His greaves were simple, as were gauntlets plated steel painted silver to match the rest of his armour, the prince's helm hung from his horse's saddle as did his longsword (a gift from his Uncle Renly on his 12th name-day), and spiked axe (another gift from his Uncle Tyrion, following his win in the squire's tourney at Highgarden). The forest was quiet only the clicking of horses whooves on the fallen leaves, even King Robert was quiet as he watched son's head rotate as his eyes scouted the gaps between the trees.

Suddenly, the prince called a halt, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Everyone followed his gaze toward where he was looking. King Robert barked out a laugh, "Ha! My boy's gonna bag 'imself a Buck then. What do ya think of that Joff! Ha!" Joffery simply scowled at his father and snorted at his brother's chosen kill. "My boar was twice as big as that welp!" The King ignored his eldest son. "Ser Barristan, bring up the weapons cart!" he shouted waving his hand at his chief guard. As the Prince dismounted his steed two Lannister men dragged up a cart filled with a mass of weapons: battleaxes, greatswords, longswords, maces and morningstars. Bruce starred long and hard at the vast array of weaponry. Eventually he grasped a long warhammer tried to lift it. Robert barked out another laugh and Joffery a giggle as they saw him struggle with the hammer, almost as tall as himself. "Good Luck killing a fighter like that with something you can't lift!" shouted the King. Stannis grunted in agreement with his older brother, "It'll take more than brute strength to down that thing." he told his Nephew. Bruce then dropped the hammer back in the cart and replaced it with a spear next to it and strode off toward the buck in the clearing. "Spear, eh, just like yourself Stannis." noted Renly. "And your Lord Father, Renly." added Jon Arryn the thin wisp of a man. Stannis grunted in acknowledgement.

Bruce made no effort to mask himself or silence his footsteps he had seen enough hunts himself to know a young buck like this would not run from him. As he entered the clearing where the beast was grazing, he gripped the spear in both hand the steel fingers of his gauntlets folding into place. The beast caught sight of the intruder and dug it's hooves into the earth beneath it. Bruce advanced on it. Snorting at him the buck lowered it's head and kicked dirt up at him using it's antlers. Bruce continued. Angered that it had not gotten him to break and run the dear leveled it's head at Bruce and charged. The Royal Party gasped as Bruce charged to meet it. Robert roared his encouragement, "That's it, Boy! Gut that Fucking Cunt!"

When both the buck and Bruce were within a meter between them Bruce stopped midstride and forced all his weight back on to his back foot and thrust the spear point forward into the buck. The animal reared at the sharp point but had too much momentum behind it to stop, and felt the spear point puncture straight into it's chest. It wreathed and wriled against the spear which only served to worm the point further into it's chest. Finally, Bruce twisted the spear and wretched it out of it's chest to see it fall down limp and lifeless. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Bruce turned to face the stuned on lookers. His father and Renly roaring with laughter, his Lannister Uncle's grinning side by side at him. Jon Arryn shared a wisp of a smile with Ser Barristan and Stannis' gruff nod at him even the Hound seemed impressed by his feet. Joffery meerly sat writhing in hatred atop his horse, his crossbow clutched tightly to his chest. Bruce lifted his arm and waved a them.

The jeers of the audiance were suddenly silenced by an ear splitting roar. Bruce whirled around on his heels to the source of the roar. A lion made it's advance on him, much as he did the buck. In a mad panic, swords were drawn by the Kingsguard as they readied to charge before they were stopped by Stannis, "Wait!" They did so but this did not stop Joffery, the bolt from his crossbow flying straight for lion though it meerly landed at it's feet. The lion roared it's reply back at back at him, and tried to charge past Bruce toward him, had Bruce not thrust his spear into it's shoulder when it came close enough to him. Enraged the lion turned on him again. Quick as a flash it clawed at his breastplate, pushing it's claws through the steel but not far enough as make contact with the flesh beneath it. Bruce staggered back brought the spear up to guard himself when the lion made pounce on to him Bruce thrust his spear forward but released his grip on it at the last moment, sending the steel point soaring to the lion. As it pushed it's claws out toward him the spear sailed straight into the lions mouth and the beast fell silent as it hit the ground and swept Bruce from his feet.

Finally, the 3 Kingsguard charged led by the King, the rest of the Party scattered in pursuit. When Robert reached the scene he let out a roar of laughter. "A lion! A bloody lion with a spear! That's how you hunt, Joffery!" the king belowed at his eldest, who had just armed another bolt into his crossbow. They continued to stare at the kill as Bruce rose to his feet, while Robert kept boasting of his son's kill Ser Barristan spoke up first to the King "And what is to be done with your son's kills, Your Grace." Robert looked at his son, "Well, Boy!?" Bruce knew immediately. "We'll serve the Buck at My name-day feast, the lion... skin the lion. I need a knew coat and bear fur makes my arse itch." Robert barked with laughter as did much of the others, Tyrion grinned at his Nephew "A Lion with Antlers if ever there was one." Robert nodded "Aye, imp. A name for a true hero. Come we'll have this 'Lion with Antlers' knighted in honour of his kill. Jon see it gets done, I'm going for some more wine." The Hand bowed his head and turned to follow his king back to the caravan as did the rest of them. Bruce smiled "Ser Bruce Lannister 'the Lion with Antlers'" "Hell of a mouth full, Nephew," said Ser Jaime as he rode next to him "I can't wait to here the songs they sing of you." Bruce laughed "Nor I Uncle. Nor I."


	4. Bruce I

To Bruce Lannister, the North seemed much as he imagined it would, almost entirely baron wastes marked only by scattered forests and pieces of woodland ruled by hardy men full of honour and chivalry seeming oblivious to goings on of their own lands much less that of others, 'Not that it matters' thought the young lion 'Ignorance _can_ be bliss.' Bruce Lannister (Techincally Baratheon were it not for a certain 'hard-to-please' Warden of the West) stood nearly 6 foot tall, with still more room to grow, sea-green eyes a mix of both his parents the King Robert and Queen Cersei, his face held stone gravity of the Baratheon's marked by wit and cunning that was typically common of Lannister's in their youth. His head was shrouded in a mop of block locks which cascaded down his face. His cheeks were over whelmed by the makings of a beard though his chin had yet to surrender to the same fate which at 14 was extremly irritating. His shoulders were broad, with arms carrying bulk to match carved from years of contiuous drill in Casterly Rock and tourney's at Highgarden. He had long legs and his height was in great debt to as they had been toned by long rides in his ventures in the Westerlands and Reach. Bruce was certainlly impressive in his appearance.

He was glad of it in the harsh cold of the North. The journey from King's Landing had been long and boring as was expected but Bruce felt increasingly weary given that, according to his father, Winterfell was now less than a stones throw away. Bruce was greatful for this encouragement as despite the the lion fur coat even with the head/hood pulled over his head he still felt the chill, showed this every time a breeze ran past him. "Cold dear nephew? I thought all that Lion's blood in you meant you were impervious to the cold." Jested his Uncle Tyrion who rode beside him, "No," he replied "merely thinking of what my father will do when he sees Lord Stark." Tyrion chuckled "Slap him or kiss him?" "Both I should imagine." answered Tyrion's bother, Jaime on their Nephew's left "I certainly think it'll be intresting." said Bruce as he grimaced from hearing his father's roaring from the front of the collum.

Jaime looked at his nephew "Why don't you ride at the front with the King?" Bruce simply snickered "And listen to his ravings on 'if it weren't for that bloody carrige we'd be there by now!' or his story of how he caved someone's skull in with that fucking warhammer he thinks he can still swing. If he weren't so fat he probably could!" Tyrion laughed and said "Our Robert certainly has been putting weight on recently. Why aren't you riding with the King brother dear?" Jaime grinned replying "Why? To protect our king's favourite son, of course." "Are you doubting my skill in murder, brother?" demanded Tyrion in voice honeycombed in humour, "Never, dear Tyrion merely stating that our Sweet Prince can never be over guarded." Bruce tried to respond to his Uncle's but was cut off "Well I think tha-" "GET THAT FLOPPY HAIRED PRICK UP HERE! BOY! BOY!? GET UP HERE NOW!" Bruce shuddered at the bellowing of his father. "Pray for me." he told his Uncle's as he broke off from the collum to gallop off to his father, his lion head hood falling backward as he did so.

Bruce enjoyed the feeling of wind rushing through his hair as he rode up the collum, passing the royal carriage that his mother and younger siblings as he went, overtaking Kingsguard and the Lannister retinue alike, the clanging of his waraxe on his stag helm and his hand-hammer on his longsword softened into melody as he sped up to the front of the Royal Caravanas he began to reach earshot of his father he slowed to a trot, breathed in through his nose and in his most rashionable tone of voice called out "You summond me, Father." his father turned back to look at him as he drew along side. "Take that bloody stupid thing off yer head and get yer helmet on! Your leading the rearguard into Winterfell, stop pissing yourself over the cold and show these Starks what a real Baratheon looks like, Boy." Bruce frowned at his Father "Why me? Where's Joffery?" he questioned. King Robert snorted "Showing the world what a true Baratheon doesn't look like. Him and his Dog have been spitting every passing Northerner since we left the Twins and wrapping himself in his Mother's skirt every time the wind picks up." Bruce scowled at the King "Maybe you'd do the same if you could feel anything beneath all that fat and bearskin!" he spat as he pulled away from the collum again to avoid the most of his father's wroth.

As Bruce pulled up toward his Uncle's, their eyebrows raised in questioning he answered "We must be nearing Winterfell. I'm to lead the rearguard into it." Jaime nodded and fixed his helm on "I must go find Ser Barristan then. I shall see both a Winterfell."he said as he took off in the direction Bruce had just come. Tyrion regarded his nephew and beamed like a cat "I'll see you at the feast tonight then dear, Bruce. I have been feeling a certain itch coming on ever since we left Moat Calin" Bruce smiled and tossed a gold dragon at his Uncle "Your first drinks on me then!" he shouted as kicked off to the rear of the collum. When he got their he growled as he looked at his helm. a stags head with a pair of obnoxiously large horns jutted out "As if that's any more stupid" he snorted and pulled the lion's head back over his own.


	5. Arya I

**Arya**

If her father was at all worried about the pending arrival of King Robert he did not show, Arya noted as she stood sandwhiched in between her eldest brother, Robb and eldest sister, Sansa in the courtyard of Winterfell, shrouded in her usual wolf furs. Arya herself was certainly glad of the oppertunity to be away from her sewing lessons as Septa Mordane had grown increasingly aggitated by Arya's lack of skill with a needle, and her what was certainly not helping was the name calling and snobbery of her sister. A side from little Rickon, stood holding his mother's hand his face full of awe at such a gathering of the Stark Hosehold, Arya was perhaps the Stark most curious about the meeting of her father and the King. She had spent her whole childhood brought up on Legend that was Robert Baratheon, the man who single handedly bested Prince Rhaegar at the Battle of the Trident and with the help of Lord Eddard won the crown and ended Targaeryen tyranny of the Seven Kingdoms. This excited the young Stark girl to no end, and her excitement only increased as the fortresses portcullis opened and the royal party began it's grand entrance.

Arya looked over to her father as he stepped forward, breaking the rank-and-file line up the Winterfell Household. Lord Eddard was in his mid-thirties. He had a long face, dark hair and grey eyes like Arya and, it had to be said, her half-brother Jon. His closely-trimmed beard was beginning to grey, making him look older than his years. His dark grey eyes reflect his moods, turning soft as fog or hard as stone. Among his enemies, Eddard had the reputation of having cold eyes. Arya had heard that They are thought to reflect his frozen heart though she knew this to be folly, as he doted on all his childeren more affection than most fathers did. Arya's eyes then flicked to her brother Robb. Robb's appearance favours his Mother's side, with a stocky build, blue eyes and thick red-brown hair. He was strong and fast with the mischief of a sixteen year old. "Here they come." he whispered down the line of the Stark childeren.

Arya looked to the portcullis to see the fist of King's Escort clopping through the gate. Two men of the Kingsguard, riding parrallel followed by a group guard in red plate and lion half-helms, padded into the courtyard. The Kingsguard rode on white stallions in full armour, their white cloaks flapping in the North wind. Behind them followed a large man atop a large brown horse flanked by another Kingsguard, a wild beard domminated his reddend face, the man was so fat as that the belt around his waist was scarsely visible as his gut nearly entirely covered it. A crown adorned his head,'The King?' thought Arya her eyes raised in suprise. Behind him came came another, rather odd looking pair. The first was a boy which looked similar to the age of Robb. He had the look of what Arya had to be of the Lannisters; tall for a boy his age, with blond curly hair. He looked to be handsome,from what Arya had heard him to be, he had bright green eyes, pouty lips and an evil sneer, as he cast his gaze over to the Starks 'It must be the crown prince'. Next to him a huge and heavily-muscled man. The right side of his face is gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a heavy brow. His nose is large and hooked, his long hair, dark and thin and brushed so that it covers the left side as no hair seemed to be growing there. The left side of his face is a ruin with no ear but only a hole. There is a twisted mass of scar around his good left eye. Slick black flesh is pocked with craters and deep cracks that ooze red and wet. His eyes are grey. On his jaw, bone shows. He was fitted in plain armor and a distinctive helm sculpted into the shape of a snarling dog's head. Arya couldn't help but stare the man's disfigurment, only when she felt the gentle nudge of her brother did she avert her gaze back toward the man at the head of the collum who was approaching Lord Eddard.

"Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours." The king looked her father over top to bottom, and laughed. "You have not changed at all." her father smiled at him when they broke their hug "Your Grace. Winterfell is yours." By then the others were dismounting as well, and squires and stable boys were coming forward for their mounts. Robert's queen, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the castle gate. Eddard knelt in the snow to kiss the queen's ring, while Robert embraced Catelyn like a long-lost sister. Then the children had been brought forward, introduced, and approved of by both sides. No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, "Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects." her father nodded and led the King away. After the King and his host left Queen Cersei turned to Lady Catelyn and asked to see their chambers. Arya's Lady mother nodded and grasping young Rickon by the hand led the Queen and her youngest childern away.

After they left the Crown Prince Joffery approached them. Robb held out his hand and tried to welcome him but was simply ignored and paced infront of them sneering down at them as he did. "So, your the Stark childern of Winterfell." he looked to the scarred man to his left "Ugly lot aren't they, dog?" he grunted in reply. He then rounded on Sansa "All but you of course, My Lady." he bowed to her to punctuate his point. Sansa simply stood blushing at him, Arya rolled her eyes and strugled to hold in her laughter. Joffery noticed this and turned to her, "What hole did you fall out of, hmm?" he spat at her. Robb stepped forward to protest this but before he could open his mouth or raise his hands, all of their attention was drawn to behind the Crown Prince as a voice growled "Why don't go find some kittens to kill, before she knocks you on your arse." Walking toward them was perhaps one of the wildest things Arya had seen. At first glance it seemed to be a lion in silver armour coming at them, when she looked harder, Arya saw it was someone wearing a lion as a cloak. It was a boy, very tall and imposing. His brow, stone-like, was crossed, and his green eyes glared daggers at Joffery and his jaw and high cheek bones clentched as he snarled. Joffery turned to the intervention, shocked, "And if I don't, Bruce?" "Then I will. But you might want to make sure your pup here is fed and watered first" the Lion replied, gesturing to the burned manand proceeded to stare them both down, his hand resting on the longsword buckled to the belt strap around his waist. Joffery's eyes narrowed before turning to stalk away, "Come, dog!" he did so but not before bearing his teeth and growling back at the Lion.

"Cunts" he said once Joffery had left earshot and turned Robb, the snarl replaced by a flashing smile, "Good to meet you. I apologise for my language." Robb smiled and put out his hand "None needed. Thank you for that... I wasn't sure what to say. It's not often we are insulted in the North." he shook Robb's hand. Arya looked at the two before asking the stranger, "Who are you?" he looked down at her before stepping back "Forgive me. I am Bruce Lannister 'the Lion with Antlers', second son of King Robert and Queen Cersei." He bowed his head to them "And who do I have the honour of adressing." Each of the remaining Stark children stood forward to introduce themselves courtasaing him as they did, "Sansa." "Arya." "Bran." He frowned at them "What of the other two?" "Other two?" asked Robb "The toddler and the bastard." Arya's nose wrinkled at the words but Bran answered first "Mother took Rickon with her and the Queen to their chambers." Bruce nodded and was about to ask Robb where the bastard knew till Arya interjected "_Jon!_ Is not here. Mother said he had wait in side." Taken a back by Arya's tone the Lion looked down at her "Thank you, Arya. Now, if you would be so kind where is the nearest privy? I've had a fucking spearhead poking out of my arse for the past hour."


	6. Robb

**DannyMcDingles:** I'm glad to see you share my like of trueborn Robert B. son fics and I agree that too many of these type of stories are abandoned (Provided that there is a certain level of reviews and general interest that should not happen here). However, in regards to A Game of Vengeance and Justice I don't find the changes to Arya that extreme, but (_**SPOILER ALERT) **_Arya's storyline will not be changed in this fic. While Arya and Bruce will be betrothed, any relationship between them, at least to begin with, would be more of the kind Tyrion has when he is engaged/married to Sansa. Thank You for your review and (as an ask to all readers) continue to give your opinion and thoughts on where you think events have gone or are going they will be instrumental in the fleshing out of the story as I already have a general idea as to where it will end.

**Robb**

There were many times when Robb was glad he was the eldest Stark. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon he settled back in his chair placed in between Pricess Myrcella and her brother Prince Bruce. The sweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was full with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing a ballad,in the center of the room but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of King Robert, the clanging of plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations of other lords in the room.

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast for the king. Robb and his brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father had permitted each child of his a glass of wine, but no more than that. Luckily Robb being so close to manhood was exempt from the rule.

And he was finding that he had a man's thirst, to the delight of the Prince next to him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass, matching him all the way. he was fine company, and Robb relished the stories being told, tales of the young princes battle in the melee at his tourney of Highgarden, when he managed to beat down his Uncle Renly by the skin of his teeth, and the hunt of where he slew the lion that he know wore as a cloak and Robb told the prince of his direwolf, Grey Wind. He was certain that his companion was more entertaining than the king's other offspring. He had sated his curiosity about the visitors when they made their entrance.

His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at sixteen, Robb all the way from the otherside of the Greathall could see through her smile. Next had come King Robert himself, with Robb's mother on his arm. The king was a great disappointment to all the Stark childeren. His father had talked of him often: the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident, the fiercest warrior of the realm, a giant among princes. Robb saw only a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks. After them came the children. Plump Price Tommen and little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a five-year-old could muster. Robb looked to see Jon urge Rickon on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white. He had been sadled with Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, her she had hair of golden curls. Robb felt the shy looks she gave him as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. Robb didn't even realize how stupid she was; grinning like a fool.

His sisters escorted the eldest of the royal princes. Arya was paired with Bruce, whose lion head was gone in stead he had his black hair, longer than hers, hanging down. Sansa, two years Arya's older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was , younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Robb did not like the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen's brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, and a sharp smile. He wore crimson silk and high black boots. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his house was in gold thread. They called him the Kingslayer. Robb found it hard to look away from him. Then he saw the other one, waddling along by his brother's side. Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin's litter and by far the ugliest. He was a dwarf, half his brother's height, on stunted legs. His head was large for his body, with a squashed-in face. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank of last of the high lords to enter were his uncle, and his father's ward, young Theon Greyjoy. After all had been seated, toasts were made, thanks were given and returned, and then the feasting began.

As the festivities went on and his cup being filled ever more frequntly, Robb found himself needing to move out of his chair. His hands were growing ever more fidgety in between his mouthfulls of sweet breads and meat. Bruce leant over the arm his chair to him and slurred out "Where's this wolf o' yours, Stark? All night I've heard about it an' seen not a hide or hair." Robb drain another cup before replying "In the stables. Father said we could not bring them inside the hall during the feast." desperate to find fresher air he added haistily, "Would you like to see him?" his companion nodded and rose before Robb had even registered it. He followed quickly, hot on the heels of his the prince, not thinking of turning to the high table to ask his father or the King permission. They both bobed and weaved through dancers and servants a like ducking under flung-out arms and serving trays till sudenlly Bruce stopped if front of him.

Robb swerved in time to avoid hitting straight his back, but his shoulder caught the princes and they jutted forward. When he looked forward, Robb came face-to-face with his Uncle Benjen. "Robb?" he asked Robb paniced and spluttered out "Fresh air!" Benjen raised his eye brow and looked over him to the high table. Robb followed his gaze where he met his Father's. From across the hall Eddard regarded his eldest for a moment, then he shifted towad the Prince who had locked eyes with his Uncle, swaying from side to side. The Lord of Winterfell then regarded his eldest for a moment then nodded to his brother who side stepped out of the way, Robb, his face flushed red, pushed the Prince onward muttering an apology to Bejen as he passed.

Outside, Bruce rubbed his bloodshot eyes "Bloody smoke, burns my eyes." he said as he followed Robb, their boots crunching snow the falling snow. Robb smirked as he began picking pieces of soot out of his hair, "What?" asked the lion "Nothing, just thinking of what my father must have thought when he saw us." he replied. Bruce grinned "Nothing scandalous, I hope. My mother would disapprove of such thought." "I would have thought that hard, given the smacked arse she's had on her jaw when she sat at the table." The wine had gone to his head, but the prince let out a laugh "She always looks like that when I walk into a room." he said a-matter-of-factly. "Why's that?" asked Robb resting his arm against a wooden door to the stables. The prince stopped and shrugged, leaning against the wall next to him, his face brewing a look of distain "She's always treated me like it. No!" he shook his head and smiled again, "I rember when I was young, she tried to take me everywhere with her, whenever Joffery was around she would sit us on her lap and tell us stories and call me, 'Her little Stag'" he snorted, and frowned again, as he slid into the snow, "And then Joff, that fuck, suddenly started lording it over everyone, me especially. when I wouldn't take it and fight back he'd always tell mother and she'd find me and..." Robb pittied the boy when he coughed and a tear ran down his face 'The drink must be making him emotional' Robb thought, as Bruce tutted and continued "...So, as soon as she could, she fucked me off to Casterly Rock, her son seven years old, couldn't even write or read, and she cast me out." Robb felt a familiurality with what his friend was feeling.

From inside one of the wolf pups howled, this seemed to shake the prince out of his state. He stood and flashed Robb another smile "Where's this mighty Direwolf then?" Robb opened the door and enteredthe stables. 'Even down South second sons have problems.' thought Robb as Jon entered his mind.


	7. The Lion vs The Wolf

**DannyMcDingles****:** Your advice has been noted. In regard to your thoughts on Arya in battle, while I have no problem with it I doubt she would take the Briene rout of celibacy and kingsguardship I do agree people often seem to forget the attitudes towards women at the time. And given the rout of making Arya into another Visenya, they also forget that the reason she was remembered as a great warrior is because she had to become one to protect herself from her brother/husband Aegon I. The only reason Aegon married Visenya was because Targaeryen law dictated he marry the older sister, he then married Rhaenys who he really wanted to marry and bore most of his children. Aegon tried to have his sister killed in battle so she had to be good to survive.

P.S. All rants are most welcome XD

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>The Lion vs. The Wolf<span>**_

The trainning yard of Winterfell was in an uproar of jeers and boos. Facing each other on opposite sides of the field, two sides stood against each wailing at the other. On one side where Stark men, the loudest among them was their lord's eldest Robb belowing curses, next to him was Theon Greyjoy, Lord Eddards ward, the gold kraken of his house emblazed on his tunic, he matched Robb in his encouragement of the two in the ring. On the other side of the Stark men where the Lannisters, at the front of them the Prince Bruce. His lion-head cloak cast off, for the sweat he had built and his red leather jerkin kept him warm enough. Off to the side of the Lannisters was the crown prince, next to him was the Hound, both of them scowling at the back and forth of the the combatants.

Inside of the ring Brandon Stark and Prince Tommen circled each other, both padded down in black leather and sheeps wool. Each time one scored a hit on the other the yard would erupt into a greater surge of shouting. As Tommen lunged out the wooden sword he was holding to Bran's head he stumbled, the padding around his already plump form making it increasingly hard for him to move at all. Bran backed away from the strike and, sensing the time to strike, brought his own wooden sword down on the young Baratheon's head. Tommen went rolling across the floor, the Lion's roared and Wolves howled at each other when Ser Roddrick called the fight to an end and called two squires to help them with their padding. "Prince Joffery, Robb? Another round?" Robb stepped forward, eagerly "Gladly!" Joffery did less so, "Ser Roddrick, this is a game for childeren!" Bruce and his northern counterparts barked out a laugh "You are a child!" he said, Joffery snorted "You and the Starks may be. But _I_ am a prince. And I'm bored at swatting at fly's with a play sword." Robb clapped up from the side of Ser Roddrick "You got more than you gave, Joff." "Are you afraid?" added the Greyjoy boy, the prince let out a laugh "Oh yes. For Robb is far bigger than myself." some Lannisters laughed.

Ser Roddrick tugged on his beard, "What are you suggesting?" Bruce answered him rolling his eyes "My brother wants live steel." "Done!" said Robb, holding his arm out towards Theon, who pulled his longsword from his belt but the master-at-arms reached out to stop him. "Live steel is too dangerous for you. Blunted edges only." The Hound laughed "Who are you to deny your prince? Do you train only women in the North?" Robb and Ser Rodrick bristled, the Lannisters laughed and Northmen oohed. Bruce stepped into the field, unbuttoning his jerkin "I'll fight you Robb. I trust my hand-hammer is blunt enough, Ser?" Whether it was or it wasn't, Robb no longer cared. Robb grabbed a blunted swords one of the sqires held out for him and stalked onto the field and Bruce advanced toward him.

Bruce's hand-hammer was an ugly looking thing. It had been a joke and gift from his father, after his 14th nameday hunt, he had given him it 'so you can lift it and still crack skulls'. Made of black-iron with brown leather rounding the handle, it was about as long as the prince's forearm but the stem was half as thin. The head of it was the most intriging and notable feature. On oneside, was the hammer's head rounded and coverevd in a coat of gilded steel, on it the face of a stag had been imprinted on it. On the other side of the head was a fierce looking spike, meant to puncture through bone and steel. At the bottom of the handle was a strap, which Bruce had had fitted to be able to hang and swing it from his wrist.

They each moved in a circle facing the other, both sides of the arena in sullen silence as the the lion and wolf faced off. While Robb had his sword out in front of him showing his guard, Bruce held his hammer down by his sides, hanging from his right wrist. Robb moved toward Bruce in silence, Bruce held out his arm and said "Do you know what my Grandfather told me was the first rule of battle?" Robb didn't answer, but contiued toward him, "You must break them, before you can engage them. Only then are you assured of victory." and the hammer began to rotate as he lightly spun his wrist. Robb stopped and tightened his guard, suprised this move as the prince advanced to meet him. When in range Robb swung for his head, expecting it, Bruce brought the spinning hammer infront of him and caught the sword which then spun with it. Catching the handle, Bruce forced both the hammer and sword to the ground. As Robb tried to pull his sword from lock and mud he looked to the prince, their heads centimeters a part, who flashed him a grin and brought his forehead to Robb's nose like a flash that sent him and his tourney blade reeling away from Bruce.

Lannister's jeered and Stark's belowed curses. As Robb rose from out of the mud glarring dagers at the prince, his pride crumbling. Grasping the sword again, Robb charged to meet him. There was a clang as metal met with metal and the two went back and forth, each time Robb swung at the prince he would meet it with the stem of the hammer and when Bruce would try and knock back Robb he would dodge it. It went back and forth. Eventually both of them locked against each other, pushing hard. Everyone in total silence until there was a high ptched scream of "Look!" from above the arena. On instinct, Bruce did so trying to see the source of it, and immediantly realised his folly, as he felt the weight of Robb leave the lock. Robb swung hard and fast, the wide edge of the sword impacting with the side of his princes face. Any celebration the Starks may have said or boos the Lannisters may have shouted, were silenced by the ferociousness of the curses Bruce uttered as he clutched the side of his head.

When he looked to Robb he saw him waving up at a window, from it he could see two figures a small one that waved back and another taller one that just stood there. The Greyjoy boy called over to him "Our first rule is: don't get distracted in the middle of battle!" Bruce growled through gritted teeth. Swiftly, he pounced, running straight for Robb. When Robb turned to him and swung at him, Bruce ducked beneath and caught Stark's leg with spike of his hammer and pulled it out benath him.

Robb roled out of the lion's reached and fled toward Theon. Once there, before Greyjoy could react Robb pulled his steel longsword from his scabbered. Turning to see the Lion roar at him and charge hammer spinning from his wrist, the wolf strided forward. Bruce swung side ways at Robb, the full momentum of his hammer and arm behind it, dodging to the side and swung Theon's sword up to it, but missed. Instead he sliced through the wrist-strap and the hammer surged through the air, scattering many of the Starks. Capitalising on this Robb immediantly swung the blade to the princes throat "Yeild!" he commanded of the Lion to the delight of his men and the gasping suprise of the Lannisters. After growling through gritted teeth, Bruce swung his arms up to sword and knocked it back and took off away from Robb to the Lannisters. With Robb nipping at his heels, Bruce shouted "Sword!" and held out his arm. When one of the Lannister's threw one at him Bruce swung round and braced for Robb. As their swords crossed Ser Roddrick boomed out "Enough!"and stalked across the field and pulled the steel from their hands.

From the side, Joffery walked on the field again, clapping his hands. "Well done brother, very impressive!" Bruce fists tightened, "That was like a child's version of our father against The Last Dragon. Of course our father would never have given up his hammer so meekly" his jaw clenched "And Robb could never even hope to come within an iota of the skill of Prince Rhaegar," had they still been holdin steel Joff's throat would have been opened "but this was entertaining none the less. Come Tommen, Hound. Leave the childeren to their games." before either could respond Joffery turned away from them and left. Bruce spat out the blood and flem building in his mouth, and looked to Robb "Cunt." they agreed.


	8. Tyrion I

**DannyMcDingles**** :**** Joffery-15 Robb/Jon-16 Bruce/Sansa-14 Arya-12 Bran/Myrcella- 10 Tommen-8 Rickon-5**

It goes against the laws of the Iron Throne for the King to hold one of the Kingdoms and the throne at the same time so if Bruce was to become king he would have to had rule over The Rock to someone else. This was one of the reasons for the creation of Lord Paramountcies, in addition to the title of Warden. In regards to Stannis the Staormlands and the war you will have to wait as I fear I may give too much away. I also agree that the dragons are over estimated, by the time they could pose a threat level to that of Aegon's Dany probably would have either take the Iron Throne with the dragons serving more of a threat to Westrosi morale than anything. Thank you for the review.

**Tyrion**

Tyrion's hand tingled with the satisfaction of slapping his eldest nephew across the face, as he walked into Winterfell's great hall. His nephew insolence had forced his uncle's hand, quite literally. 'If that boy's to be king he better learn fast.' thought Tyrion his stunted legs carried him through the hall toward his siblings and the royal children as they convrsed in a hushed tone.

"I would have thought Robert to be awake by now." he said as he sat next to Jaime on the bench. Cersei scarcley looked at him when she answered "The king spent the night with Lord Eddard. His seems to be our gain." Tyrion regarded his sister for a moment "What do you mean by that sweet sister?" he asked but it was Jaime "Our Robert has a big heart. Cersei only wishes he shared it with her, little brother." Tyrion raised his brow but dropped it when servant approached for his order. "Bread," Tyrion told him, "and two of those little fish, and a mug of that good dark beer to wash them down. And some bacon, burn it until it turns black." The man bowed and moved off. Tyrion turned back to his siblings.

"Any news of Brandon, Uncle?" asked Tommen, "I looked on him this morning. No change, the maester thought it a good sign." Tyrion turned to his second nephew, who was making his way through his third helping of sausage and fried egg, the left of his face marked by a black bruise stretching from his eye to his cheek,"What of the boy's brothers?" Bruce set down his knife and looked at his uncle, "Robb has taken almost as hard as his mother, he hasn't slept since they found him. Though he is hiding well enough, he seems more concerned for his sister's and the infant, than Bran." "The Bastard?" his nephew shook his head "Much the same from what I can tell."

"Lord Eddard had a brother named Brandon as well," Jaime mused. "One of the hostages murdered by Targaryen. Seems to be an unlucky name." "Oh, not so unlucky as all that, surely," Tyrion said. The servant brought his plate. He ripped off a chunk of black bread. Cersei was studying him warily. "What do you mean?" Tyrion gave her a crooked smile. "The maester thinks the boy may yet live." He took a sip of beer. Myrcella gave a happy gasp, Tommen smiled nervously, and Bruce went back to his sausage but it was not the children Tyrion was watching. The glance that passed between Jaime and Cersei lasted a second, but he did not miss it. "That is no mercy. The gods are cruel to let the child linger in such pain." said Cersei.

Tyrion bit into his bacon, "The maester thkinks if he was to die the gads would have taken him by now." Bruce let out a burp and said "Is the boy likely to wake then?" "The gods alone know," Tyrion told his nephew. "The maester only hopes." He chewed some bread. "That wolf of his is keeping the boy alive. The creature is outside his window day and night, howling. The maester said they closed the window once, to shut out the noise, and Bran seemed to weaken. When they opened it again, his heart beat stronger."

"Those beast will not make the journey south with us." said Cersei firmly, but her son laughed "Good luck trying to stop them. The girls take their's everywhere, Arya even sleeps in the same bed a her's." Tyrion looked to his sitster "You leave soon then." "Not near soon enough," Cersei said. Then she frowned. "What about you? Gods, don't tell me you are staying here?" Tyrion shrugged. "Benjen Stark is returning to the Night's Watch with his brother's bastard. I am going with them to see this Wall we have all heard so much of." Jaime smiled. "I hope you're not thinking of taking the black on us, sweet brother." Tyrion laughed. "What, me, celibate? The whores would go begging from Dorne to Casterly Rock. No, I just want to stand on top of the Wall and piss off the edge of the world." Tommen giggled and his brother laughed, warning "Just be sure your cock doesn't freeze while you're at it."

Cersei stood abruptly. "The children don't need to hear this filth. Tommen, Myrcella, come." She strode briskly from the morning room, her pups trailing behind her. Jaime regarded his brother thoughtfully with cool green eyes. "Stark will never consent to leave Winterfell with his son lingering in the shadow of death." "He will if Robert commands it," Tyrion said. "And Robert will command it. There is nothing Lord Eddard can do for the boy in any case." "He could end his torment," Jaime said. "I would, if it were my son. It would be a mercy." "I advise against putting that suggestion to Lord Eddard, sweet brother," Tyrion suggeested. "He would not take it kindly." "Even if the boy does live, he will be a cripple. Worse than a cripple. A grotesque. Give me a good clean death." Tyrion replied with a shrug. "Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities."

Bruce pushed his empty plate away from him "I'm sure my mother would disagree. She seems to think my father plans to wed Myrcella to Robb Stark, behind her back." Tyrion glanced to him "Then she's less perseptive than I thought. I thought everyone new of Robert's plans." both Bruce and Jaime looked to him quizzically. Tyrion rolled his eyes at them "You should both go to a brothel more often. Robert plans to have Sansa Stark wed Joff and Arya to you nephew." The black mark beneath Bruce's eye seemed to pulsate at the mention of Arya and Jaime grinned at him. "My congratulations, I hope you and your she-wolf live happy together." Tyrion laughed and winked at his brother "I'm sure he can't wait to have her clawing at his back. And that's just the wolf!" Jaime laughed this time and shook his head before pointing to his Nephew's hand "With talons like those I think he'll be doing the clawing." Bruce shrugged his shoulders and stood from the bench before remarking, "Margery Tyrell didn't seem to mind my talons when I clawed at her back." and he strode out the hall pulling his cloak over his head. His Uncle's merely gawped at each other before Tyrion remarked, "He certainly does take after Robert." Jaime simply nodded.


	9. Eddard I

**Eddard**

Lord Stark and his men had been given the back of the collum. This was much to the approval of Stark, due to the general quiet that surrounded the rear he found it much easier to speak with his daughters as they rode beside him. Bran's fall back out Winterfell had surrounded the Stark household in much grief but, despite the great protest of Lady Catelyn, Ned had agreed to take his daghters south. Both of Lord Eddard's girls had taken leaving Winterfell in almost complete opposites.

Sansa had been most excited to make the journey, right from the off she seemed to latch to the side of Prince Joffery, in her mind the betrothal between her and the Prince was completing every fantansy she had ever had. Ned was less keen on the the Crown Prince, everything about him screamed Lannister with his blond curls and flashing green eyes, if there was anything of Robert in the boy he had certainly kept it well hidden, though Ned felt the Queen had it ground out of him.

While on the other hand, Arya had taken to leaving Winterfell almost as hard as Bran's fall. It was bad enough she had to leave Jon, it was no secret to Lord Stark that of all his childeren they were the closest. Arya was also seeming to take her bethrothal rather different, the only time Eddard had seen the two together was when they were forced to ride side by side as they exited Winterfell. When Ned asked his youngest daughter why he had seen them together so little and Arya had let slip how the prince had gotten the black mark upside his head, Eddard had been forced to scold her as not only had it been dishonourable, but he had been led to believe his son's skill alone had scored such a hit on Robert's son.

Leaving the North was becoming harder for the Lord of Winterfell too, the further he went from his home the more he seemed to miss it. Had Robert not asked him to he would still be with his wife, caring for Bran. But his friend had called upon his duty and he must obey. The ride through the North was proving difficult for the Southerners, their horses had not been bred well enough to navigate the frozen dirt roads, their furs not thick enough to stop the bite of the cold. Even then Royal carriage, with it's iron plate wheels and heavy axelled body, was not immune to it and it required another three horses to keep moving, much to the irritation of the king.

As a result the royal party had been reduced to a snail's pace and progress was slow. In order to keep the king entertained and his wroth controled, he would often break off from the main group and hunt for their nightly meal at camp. Ned summrised the king would go again when his second son galloped toward him, his lion-head pull up around his ears,"Lord Eddard, his grace requests to speak with you." Ned regarded the boy, his black, untamed hair, the sea-green eyes and bruise beneath his left. The hammer hanging from his saddle and longsword clipped to his belt, the lions guarding his shoulders and crowned stag on his breast plate; 'He certainlty has the drama that comes with a Lannister, even with the look of Robert he has.' thought the new Hand as he bid his daughters farewell, he noted Arya casting a particularly dark smirk at the prince, and kicked off to follow him.

The two rode side by side, up the collum in a quick trot that surpassed the slow trudging of the rest of the king's escort. "I'm sorry about what happened to your son, Lord Eddard. He seemed like such a sweet boy." said Bruce geimly, Ned nodded "Thank you, he was. I wish I was with him now." the prince sighed "My father took your loss as his own. I don't think I have ever seen him sober for so long. I doubt he'd have done it for Tommen" "It was good of him to be so caring, I'm sure he would do the same for one of his own." assured Eddard, but the prince shrugged "I confess I wouldn't know, I scarecly know him." Ned raised an eye-brow "He is your father." He shrugged again, "Forgive me, Stark. I spent the past two years of my life in Highgarden, with my Uncle Renly. Before that I spent seven at Casterley Rock with my grandfather. The only time I ever spoke with the man before then was when he punished me when I wiped shit on the walls of the Red Keep. I hadn't even turned five when I did it." Eddard couldn't believe it. How could he show so little intrest in his son and care so much for him, whom he hadn't seen in so long. He wanted to find something to say to the boy but could not. Instead they remained in sollemn silence.

As they approached King Robert and his guards, Bruce broke the silence "Father, Lord Eddard." the red-faced king turned to face them both "Ah! Ned, there ya are!" Ned bowed to his head to his old friend, the king then turned to his son "Go find Joff, tell him to go hunt something for tonight. Then go ahead to find a good place to camp up ahead, take the Kingslayer and Ser Meryn." without a word the boy turned and galloped back down the line followed by one of the men in white cloaks. Ned pulled along side his old friend "Not feeling up for it today, Your Grace?" the king grunted, his face turned serious "Your the head of my council now, Ned. So council me." Stark looked to him "On?" the king waved his hand and shushed him, "Not here." and galloped further up the road, out of his guards earshot.

Ned followed his king, "Your Grace?" the king looked to his Hand "What do I do with the boy, Ned?" Lord Eddard raised an eye-brow, "Who?" "Bruce, Stark! What do I do with the boy?" Ned kept looking at his old friend with a blank stare, "Gods give me strength! Ned, where do I send the boy when he reaches manhood. He can't stay in King's Landing." Stark frowned "Why can't he? He's spent so much time away from it, he claims to barley knows you." Robert rounded on his friend "How do you know that?" "The boy told me. Says he spent most his life away from you and in the lion's den." the king growled at his old friend, "You think I did it willingly. Cersei forced my hand." he sighed, "Joff and Bruce never got on. Ever since they were babes, they spent most of their infancy playing tug of war over their mother. Needless to say Joff won. When they grew abit older it only got worse, things got physical. Eventually, Cersei couldn't take. When he became of age, Tywin wrote to me, wanted to take one of the boy's on as squire. I knew Cersei would never part with Joffery so I let her send Bruce instead."

Ned regarded his friend for a long while "Surely Tywin, above anyone else, could have gotten the boy to cool his temper." Robert laughed "I thought that to. On his twelth name-day I sent for the boy. It seemed to work for a time. While they both still didn't get on, Bruce was a least being cordial. Joff didn't seem to like that, so he would try and break him." When he didn't continue Ned encoraged his friend on, "While he was in the Red Keep, Bruce got himself a girl. One of the cooks girl's, Varys told me he would sneak through the kitchen's during the day to spend time in gardens with her. Sweet girl, used to hold the wine flagon for Cersei during feasts. When Joffery found out, he set the Hound on her." Lord Eddard gasped "What did he do to her?" The King looked to his Warden of the North grimly, "You know what Clegane's are like."

Lord Eddard's jaw clenched, as he recalled the day he walked through the gate's of the throne room, the brain's of Elia Martell and her childeren dashed against the walls. "What did the boy do?" Robert shook his head "Stormed into the Throne Room in the middle of court with a sword Renly gifted him, tried to take Joff's head off. He knocked down Ser Meryn to do it, took both the Kingslayer and Ser Barristan a good while to stop him. I don't know who Tywin had teatch the boy sword play, but he certainly listened." Eddard found he could barley speak,"What did you do?" his old friend laughed, "What else could I have done? His mother wanted blood as much as he did. I gave him to Renly, told him to keep the boy away from the city till he was over it." "And?" asked Ned but king growled again, "I killed the man that did that to me, Stark. Do you expect my son to be any different." It wasn't a question. While Ned didn't know the boy well he knew that he wasn't the type to let such a thing lie.

The king addressed his hand again, "Well Stark, your councel?" Ned shook his head, "Give me time to think. I'll have an answer for when we reach King's Landing." and without waiting for leave, turned from his old friend and trotted back down the collum. 'Perhaps this betrothal between Sansa and the Crown Prince was a bad idea.' he thought.


	10. Arya II

**Author's Note:**** This one was hell to write.**

**Arya**

Arya grinned at the wind blowing through her hair as she ran through the long grass that surrounded the the edges of the Trident. She and Mycah had left the camp hours ago to play, despite the protest of her sister. Sansa seemed to have grown doubly irriatiting ever since they had left Winterfell. She was being fueled by the praises of Prince Joffery and Queen Cersei, and ever since they had passed The Neck Sansa seemed to spend almost all of her time surrounded by Lannister knights always hanging off of Joffery's arm. When the Queen had invited both, Arya and her sister to spend the day in the royal carriage and she refused, Sansa had almost dragged her to them, but Sansa was a Lady and would never do such a thing.

So instead, Arya had taken Mycah and Nymeria up to the Ruby Ford, where King Robert had slain Prince Rhaegar. It was there that Arya had challenged Mycah to a duel with sticks. As it turned out Mycah, for all his weight and ragged clothes, was quite agile and had sent Arya in to retreat and she was now on the run, Nymeria at her side and Mycah on her heels. She ran out into a clearing next to the river and turned back to Mycah her stick held out in front. Mycah pressed the attack. His stick a flurry of wood and bark, but Arya was matching him blow for blow. Finally, she lunged out at Mycah, but he caught her stick with his own, swept it aside, and slid his wood down hard on her fingers. She cried out and lost her weapon.

Over by some trees, on the edge of the clearing a voice laughed out. Mycah looked around, wide-eyed and startled, and dropped his stick in the grass. Arya glared at them, sucking on her knuckles to take the sting out, and saw her sister, Sansa and Joffery on horseback. "Arya?" her sister called out."Go away," Arya shouted back at them, angry tears in her eyes. "Leave us alone." Joffrey glanced from Arya to Sansa and back again. "Your sister?" Sansa nodded, blushing. Joffrey examined Myca, his nose upturned. "And who are you, boy?" he asked in a commanding tone. "Mycah," he answered. He recognized the prince and averted his eyes, "M'lord." Arya glarred at the prince "He's my friend," she said sharply. "You leave him alone."

"A butcher's boy who wants to be a knight, is it?" Joffrey swung down from his mount, sword in hand. "Pick up your sword, butcher's boy," he said, his eyes bright with amusement. "Let us see how good you are." Mycah stood there, frozen with fear. Joffrey walked toward him. "Go on, pick it up. Or do you only fight little girls?" Mycah had tears welling up in his eyes,"She ast me to, m'lord," Mycah said. "She ast me to." Ayrya could smell the stink of wine coming off of the prince "Are you going to pick up your sword?" Mycah shook his head. "It's only a stick, m'lord. It's not no sword, it's only a stick." Joffrey lifted his sword and laid its point on Mycah's cheek below the eye, as the butcher's boy stood trembling. "That was my lady's sister you were hitting, do you know that?" And bright blood blossomed where his sword pressed into Mycah's flesh, and a slow red line trickled down the boy's cheek. "Stop it!" Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick. Sansa's voice trembled as she told her sister, "Arya, you stay out of this." "I won't hurt him . . . much," Prince Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the butcher's boy.

Arya laid into him.

There was a loud crack as the wood split against the prince's head. Joffrey staggered and whirled around, roaring curses. Mycah ran for the trees as fast as his legs would take him. Arya swung at the prince again, but this time Joffrey caught the blow on Lion's Tooth and sent her broken stick flying from her hands. His head was all bloody and his eyes were on fire. Sansa was shrieking, "No, no, stop it, stop it, both of you, you're spoiling it," but no one was listening. Arya scooped up a rock and hurled it at Joffrey's head. She hit his horse instead, and the animal reared and went galloping off after Mycah. "Stop it, don't, stop it!" Sansa screamed. Joffrey slashed at Arya with his sword, screaming obscenities, terrible words, filthy words. There was brown blur that swept passed Sansa, silencing her cries. Arya raised her hands as the prince swung his sword down to her face, but the strike never came.

The clang of metal striking metal vibrated in the air around them. Arya looked up at her savior, the Prince Bruce astride his horse looking down at them both the lion head drooped over his brow. His sword was held out holding Joffery's in place above Arya's head. He pushed against the prince sending him staggering backwords and dismounted his horse, placing himself in between Arya and Joffery. "What's this Joff? I thought you got the Hound to take on innocents for you?" Joffery growled at his brother, spitting fire and venom "Get out of here, Bruce! I'm teatching her a lesson." Arya's betrothed narrowed his eyes and smiled, "I can't let you do that Joff. It's my duty as your brother to stop little girls hurting you. Especially their wolves."

Arya looked down to see Nymeria's head poking out in between Bruce's legs, fangs beared and growling. The Crown Prince's legs seemed quiver and he swung out in fury at his brother, he knocked the strike aside with ease and delivered his own slash catching, Joffery's shoulder. The elder prince yelled out clutching at the shallow cut and swung out again harder, Bruce batted it away again and cut down through his brother's thigh. Joffery had tears in his eyes and swore violently at his brother, this time he tried to swing down at his brother's head. His blade was caught and rather than forcing it away, Bruce ducked beneath their blades and stepped behind his brother and shoulder him to the floor, his head landing at Nymeria's feet. Arya looked to the younger prince; a grin of satisfaction on his face, the large black welt beneath his eye had turned a more greenish yellow. He had scarcely broken a sweat where as Joffery now had a red face to match his father's. Though he wore a smile Arya could see the purley loathsome energy blazing from his eyes. He had waited a long time for this.

Tears now streamed down Joffery's face in bucket loads. Arya giggled at what the future king had been reduced to. He seemed to notice when he pushed himself up and spat, "You think this is funny?!" and slashed out at her. The point of Joffery's sword tore through Arya's chest catching ribs and bone as it went. Arya yelped and Sansa screamed out at blood glithering through the air. Nymeria looked back to her mistress as she fell down backward and jumped up and latched herself to Joffery's sword arm.

Arya did not see what happened next, as she hit the soft earth but she did heard enough to tell it wasn't good. She made out the screaming of Joffery and the growling and barking of her direwolf. Her sister was screaming louder than Arya had ever heard her do before. She regognised the loud swearing as that of the younger of the two princes and the wailing of scared horses.

Then there was a deafening silence. Arya looked up to catch a final glimce of Sansa and Joffery fleeing the scene. Bruce stood looking to see them run, then he turned and stroe toward her, casting offhis lion head cloak. "Where did he cut, you?" Arya's hand ran across her chest till she felt the stick, damp of her blood and showed it to the prince. He began unbuttoning his leather jerkin and Arya frowned at him "What are you doing?" her voice shook as more blood began to seep out. The prince pulled the white wool shirt over his head, "I need something to stop you bleeding out." and with his hand leaned her forward as he began to tie the shirt around her chest. Arya was blushing hard and struggled to speak, "Where's Nymeria?" the prince didn't answer, but instead walked away from her and whistled for his horse.

As the animal began to approach he pulled back on his leather jerkin, she asked him again and he continued to ignore her as he walked the horse over to her, picking up the lion cloak as he did. She demanded an answer from him as he picked her up and placed her on the horse. As Bruce mounted the horse behind Arya she caught sight of the direwolf pup laying in the soft grass. Her mouth was bloodied and fangs dripping red, she whimpered softly looking at Arya with sad eyes. Arya tried to go to her but Bruce kicked off as she move, he kept his arms locked around her to stop her from jumping off , but she kicked and screamed anyway. Bruce kept on riding.


	11. Bruce II

**danceegirl92:**Don't worry about Nymeria she's fine and no she won't have such courage.

**Master of Dragons God: **Thank You.

**Bruce**

Bruce stood seething with anger in Lord Darry's hall. The room was crowded full of Lannister, Stark and Baratheon men. Too crowded, he thought; left alone, Stark and the king might have been able to settle the matter quietly. His father was slumped in Darry's high seat at the far end of the room, his face sullen. Cersei Lannister and her son stood beside him. The queen had her hand on Joffrey's shoulder. Thick silk bandages covered the boy's arm. Beside him the Hound, his barking dog helm under his left arm and right hand on his sword. Arya stood in the center of the room, alone but for one of her father's men, every eye upon her.

Ned Stark burst into the room his face drowning in fury. He looked to his daughter and called loudly "Arya,". He went to her, his boots ringing on the stone floor. When she saw him, she cried out and began to sob. Lord Eddard went to one knee and took her in his arms. She was shaking. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." "I know, are you hurt?" Arya tried to calm down but more tears barked up instead. He rose to face the king. "What is the meaning of this?" His eyes swept the room, searching for friendly faces. But for his own men, they were few enough. Ser Raymun Darry guarded his look well. Lord Renly wore a half smile that might mean anything, and old Ser Barristan was grave.

Then Eddard looked to Bruce, who stood in off to the side of Ser Barristan, his scowl deepening at him 'Careful, Stark. I'm the only ally you've got here.' thought Bruce when he turned away from him and back to his father."Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?" He spoke to Robert, but it was Cersei who answered. "How dare you speak to your king in that manner!" The king stirred. "Quiet, woman," he snapped. He straightened in his seat. "I am sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. It seemed best to bring her here and get the business done with quickly." "And what business is that?" The queen stepped forward. "You know full well, Stark. This girl of yours attacked my son. Her and her butcher's boy. That animal of hers tried to tear his arm off. And then seduced Bruce into haking his head off!"

Arya spoke out loudly, "That's not true! He was hurting Mycah and Bruce tried to stop him!" Cersei rounded on Arya, "Joff told us what happened," the queen said. "You and the butcher boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him." "That didn't happen!" Arya shouted back. "Yes it is!" Joffrey insisted. "They all attacked me, and she tried to have Brue open my throat!" Bruce noticed that he did not so much as glance at Arya as he spoke. "Liar!" Arya yelled. "Shut up!" the prince yelled back.

"Enough!" the king roared, rising from his seat. Silence fell. He glowered at Arya through his thick beard. "Now, you will tell me what happened. And remember, it is a great crime to lie to a king." Bruce stepped toward his father, "Then you should have had Joffery in a Black Cell since he could speak." All eyes turned to him. His mother looked as though she would have slapped him, "How dare you say such a thing about your brother. Rob-" "Quiet! Hold your tounge!" the king looked to his son "All of you."

As Arya began her story, the doors to the hall opened. In came Jaime Lannister and one of the Lannister men. In the man's arms was the whimpering form of Arya's direwolf. The wolf pup wriggled free from the guard's grasp, and limped toward Arya, who rushed to meet her, more tears falling. "There it is!" cried Joffery pointing at the direwolf "That's it! Dog! Bring me the bitch's head." the Hound grinned and drew his sword as he descended the steps. Bruce drew his own blade and pointed it to the giant of a man, "Careful, Clegane. I'd hate for you to scar that pretty face." The Hound laughed and spat out, "I killed my first man when I was twelve, boy. What can you do to frighten me?" Bruce's uncle stepped forward half drawing his own blade, "It's not so much what he'll do, as what I'll do." Cersei stood shocked "Jaime!" she half shouted, half pleaded. The king shouted for silence again and asked Arya to continue. Ser Jaime sheathed his longsword fully, but the Hound and Lion kept their's out, quietly growling at each other.

When Arya reached the part in her story where Joffery slashed her across the chest Renly smirked and spoke , "A girl, 4 years your junior, laughs at you and you almost have her head off? Quite the temper the boy has, eh, Ser Barristan." nudging the Kingsguard who stood beside him. Joffery began to redden and his mother's paitence snapped, "Enough of this! Ser Clegane?" The Hound swept his sword up, knocking back Bruce's. He then swung side ways but Bruce blocked it and swung back. Ser Jaime drew his own blade and ran to his nephew's aid, as he pressed his offensive. Clegane backed up the steps to his master and the queen, meeting both Lannister's attack with his own. In a desperate attempt to break them, the Hound held Jaime's sword with his own and lunged with his fist at Bruce. It impacted on his mouth and sent him reeling, he then brought it back and smacked Ser Jaime across the jaw. Following this the Hound then charged strait for Arya and Nymeria, who were now limping for the door.

Lord Stark stepped forward this time, and shouldered his king out of the way and drew his ancesteral greatsword. Ser Barristan then ran froward placing himself in between the king and the Hound his blade now drawn like the others. Yet again the sound of steel hitting against steel went ringing out. All three men stood, their swords out stretched keeping each other at bay. Finally, King Robert roared out for peace, "Damn this! Ned, you make sure you punish your girl and I'll puish my boy. You can be sure who ever is in the wrong is punished." the Lord of Winterfell was the first to sheath his sword, "If Clegane comes for my daughter again you can find yourself a new Hand and Joffery a new pet." he growled and turned to lead his daughter out the room.

The king sighed, but his queen was not done yet, "And what of justice? Your heir is savaged and you will do nothing. He will bear his scars for the rest of his life!" the king also turned to leave the room, "Good! Perhaps he will learn a lesson from it. Barristan. Kingslayer. Come." and he left and his guards followed as did the rest of the spectators, Jaime sparred a glance for his nephew, whose bottom lip now oozed blood. Bruce looked to his mother who looked fit to burst, she then glarred at her second born, "Joffery!" she snapped "Go to Sansa! She will need you. She seemed unsettled when she followed you back to the camp." Bruce sneered 'Unsettled? She looked like a ship-wreck.' Joffery glarred at his brother as he passed "Dog, come!" he commanded as he left.

Cersei stormed across the room and slapped her son hard across the face. "If your father will not punish you I will." She slapped him again, "How could you do that!? To your own brother!" She tried to slap him a third time but Bruce grabbed her wrist and growled, "I protect an innocent girl from that monster and you call it treason. He has his dog rape and butcher an innocent girl and you call it a breakdown in communtication. Perhaps if you treated him like shit as well as me you'd be able to see the wrong in it." With that Bruce stalked away leaving his mother wide-eyed. Just before he left her alone he turned back and spat, "Don't forget which Lannister get's Casterly Rock after Grandfather. It'd be a shame if I called in the crown debts on Joffery's Corination day." With that he left the room in a stunned silence.


	12. Jaime I

**DannyMcDingles: **I think when Clegane tells Arya about how he wished he'd raped Sansa it wasn't just out of spite. I think he actually would have given the chance as it adds to the general evil of his character.

**danceegirl92**: It was more just a sort rubbing salt in the wound kind of remark to Cersei. And it wasn't a foreshadowing or anything, don't forget that the charecters don't know when Robert is going to die.

**Damon: **"When I was young I thought that money was the most important thing in life; now that I am old I know that it is." - Oscar Wilde

**J****aime**

Ser Jaime Lannister always enjoyed a fight. It was little secret. Although this one may soon become an exception. His nephew had always been good with a sword, Jaime had made sure of that since he was a boy. But now that he was older, Jaime realised it may have been a mistake. Bruce and Jaime circled each other in the fighting pit of the Red Keep, swords drawn sweat dripping. While Jaime was the best swordsman in all Westeros he had little doubt with his nephew it was making the claim harder to make. Jaime lunged out at his nephew's unguarded flank, Bruce jumped to avoid it and swung for his uncle, who ducked beneath the strike.

They had been at it for hours, always the same routine. One would attack, the other would deflect or dodge it and deliver a counter-attack, then they would circle each other till one would repeat it. Bruce said to his uncle, "How long a our we going to go one like this?" Jaime smirked and swiped wide, "Untill you yield or die. Which ever one comes first." Bruce batted away the strike, "It'll be quite some time then." and winked at his uncle as he laid into him. They began circling again "It's not like you don't need the practice." said Jaime. Bruce stopped and raised his sword, and relpied "I think it's you who needs to practice. Can't have Joffery's pet getting the better of both of us." Jaime let out a laugh and stepped to attack his opponent saying, "Don't worry. If you have to defend your lady like that again I'll be there to help you out as always." Bruce swung for his uncle, "I had Clegane on the back foot. Then you steeped in and gave him an opening." Jaime blocked his nephew's strike, "Maybe if you could keep your temper under control I wouldn't have had to step in." Bruce pressed his attack, "Maybe if my mother cared less for Joffery and more about what he was doing that crisis could have been averted."

Jaime's sword clashed with Bruce's. He was right. Cersei paid to much mind on Joffery. He had heard the whisperings of court, as she had, that the realm would no doubt be a better off with Bruce as Crown Prince and not Joffery. He had even heard Ser Barristan speak of how he dreaded that he would come to serve the boy. He recalled how once his father had written to him once informing him of the progress of his tutalage with Bruce, 'The boy shows a natural talent with a blade and command of others. Cersei would have been better off with sending me Joffery.' Jaime had agreed, with his mother's backing and the Hound's loyalty Joff was becoming a problem.

Jaime lunged out, "When do you intend to leave?" Bruce side stepped and braced for a second attack. "Who says I'm going any where?" Jaime laughed raising his sword above his head, "Don't play the fool with me. Eveyone knows you and Joff can't stay together for to long, and we both know it has to be you who goes." annd brought his blade down. Bruce blocked it and shouldered his uncle back, "I don't know. I'll probably leave after Lord Eddard's tourney, but I don't think it wise to leave the girl I am to marry alone with Joff." Jaime gathered himself quickly, "You could take her with you." Bruce braced again, "Would that I could. Stark will never let his daughter's out of his sight after what happened on the Trident." The two went back and forth trading blows, "Where do you intend to go then? If you do leave." said Jaime. Bruce ducked one of his uncle's attacks, "Probably back to Casterly Rock. Maybe start taking up some of my responsibilities there." Jaime smiled "So the old mans finally given up on me, then?" Bruce shook his head as he swung at Jaime, "No. But I think if I commit to him he might." Jaime mentally thanked his nephew, at least his father would be one less thing to worry about.

"And if you don't go back to The Rock?" Bruce reeled back frowning, "Highgarden?" Jaime let out another laugh "Ah! Back to your Lady Margaery is it?" Bruce's eyes narrowed and his throat let out a growl as he swung hard for his uncle, but Jaime spun out the reach of his sword, "So it is Highgarden then! My dear nephew by all means then go. Your lady's bed grows ever colder."

Bruce charged him.

Their swords were a blur of silver and clanging steel. Jaime continued to goad him 'Now I have him.' he thought and called out "There's that temper of your's. Watch it. It could be the death of you." Like lightening, Jaime stepped to the side, he brought the blade against his nephew's shoulder and then down across his shin. His nephew crumpled to the floor. "I win then." Jaime said looming over Bruce. Bruce pushed himself onto his back and held out his hand to his uncle. Jaime took it and heaved his nephew to his feet adding a final jest, "Be sure your she-wolf doesn't find out how your rolling in the flower beds" His nephew gave a final defiant growl, much to his uncle's delight.

As they walked back into the Red Keep, Bruce turned to Jaime "I trust to see you in the melee." He grinned, "Of course, though don't expect me to go easy on you." Bruce smiled back, "I'd expect nothing less of you I owe you back after today." Jaime's grin widened further, "A Lannister always pays his debts." he quoted.


	13. Bruce III

**Gold raven:** Given that Jaime is the only reason Bruce is still alive I always imagined he would keep an extra eye on him. In regard to Margaery, she always sruck me as the type to have a few 'pieces on the side' as it were and who would be better than our young prince. In regard to the final pairing and killing the Hound you shall have to wait im afraid.

**Master of Dragons God****:** Thank you

* * *

><p><strong><span>Bruce<span>**

Bruce turned off the square where the Street of Steel began and followed its path up a hill, past blacksmith's forges, knights haggling over mail shirts, and warn and haggard old men selling blades from wagons. The farther he climbed, the larger the buildings grew. The man he wanted was all the way at the top of the hill. The double doors showed a hunting scene carved in wood. A pair of stone knights stood at the entrance, armored in suits of polished red steel. Bruce left his horse with one of the boys at the armourer's stable, and shouldered his way inside.

A young thin faced boy noticed the prince sigil he wore on the front of his shirt. The boy tried to hide a smile when he saw the roaring lion covering his brow but Bruce saw it all the same and said to the boy, "Fetch your master. I have buisness with him." The boy left and then came back out of a room off the side, a large man in tow, "Wine for the Prince," he told the boy, gesturing Bruce to a chair. "I am Tobho Mott, my lord, please, put yourself at ease." He wore a black coat with hammers on the sleeves, "If you are in need of new arms for the Hand's tourney, you have come to the right shop." Bruce regarded the man he didn't seem like a blacksmith, "I have come to have my blade sharpened and adjustments to my armour." the man smiled,"I could fashion you new blades and armour to match. You will not find craftsmanship equal to mine anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, I promise you."

Bruce sipped his wine and let the man have his boasting. The Knight of Flowers bought all his armor here, Tobho told him, and many high lords, and even Lord Renly, the king's own brother. Perhaps the Prince had seen his uncle's new armor, the green plate with the golden antlers? Bruce thought for a moment. He then stood unsheathing his sword, "I could do with a new blade." gesturing to the the blunted edges and dents in the gilded steel. Tobho's eyes widened and bowed "My prince, you do me a great honour. And a new set of armour?" Bruce shook his head, "My armour merely needs adjusting. I will have someone send it down from the Red Keep this evening. I should need it back before the day after tomorrow." Mott's eyes seemed to narrow slightley "Very good, Your Grace. Although I fear such work will take longer." Bruce smiled and retrieved a pouch of silver stags, the man's eyes lit up again, "Of course exceptions can be made." and snatched the silver from Bruce's hand before saying, "In order to save time we can have your measurements taken immediantly."

Bruce had scarcely noded by the time Mott had left the room, leaving him alone. Scarcely a moment had passed, when Mott reentered the room with a boy in tow. The boy looked at Bruce through sullen blue eyes. The boy had short hair,unkempt and black as ink. The shadow of a new beard darkened his jaw and a piece of knotted string hung loosely round his kneck. "This is Gendry. He will take your measurements. Now if you would excuse me, my prince I have other buiseness to attend to." Mott bowed again and left the two alone. They stood alone starring at each other. Bruce felt an air of familiarity about Gendry with his black hair and pale blue eyes. Gendry pulled the string from his neck, "Shall we get started then?" Bruce nodded, shrugging the feeling off, and removed his lion head. Gendry began to measure up Bruce, wrapping the string around his waist.

"Are you competing in the tournemant, M'lord?" asked Gendry taking note of the girth of the prince's waist. "Yes I am." Gendry then wrapped the string around his chest, "Have you competed in many?" Bruce nodded, "Two. I won one." Gendry took the prince's arm and lifted it, "Where was it?" Bruce laughed "Why all the questions?" Gendry blushed and shrugged his shoulders, "Not everyday you get to speak with a prince." he mumbled. Bruce let out another, softer laugh, "I suppose you don't do you. Very well then, it was at Highgarden. Anymore questions?" Gendry thought for a moment, as he measured the other arm, "What is it like?" Bruce frowned, "What do you mean? Highgarden or the tournemant?" "Both." answered Gendry. Now Bruce thought for a moment, "The tournemant, was fun enough, until I got unhorsed by Loras Tyrell." "Did it hurt?" Bruce smiled, "Bloody agony. But I got him back in the melee. He still had some of the bruises when I left for King's Landing." Gendry seemed to smile at that as he started on the left leg, "Will he be in this one, as well?" "Yes. Apparently he was one of the first to arrive. Should make for good competition."

Gendry seemed to stop with the questions so Bruce took over, "Will you be watching the tourney?" Gendry nodded, stepping back from the prince, "I hope so. If Mott let's me go." "Will he?" Gendry shrugged. Bruce examined Gendry for a moment, "Have you ever squired for anyone?" Gendry's eyes seemed to double in size, "M'lord?" "I need a squire and what better way to see a tourney than that." Gendry was thunderstruck. HIs mouth hung open and his eyebrows seemed to glued in place when finally he spluttered out "Yes." Bruce held out his hand and Gendry shook it that moment Tobho Mott strode back in the room, "My prince? Is everything done?" Bruce turned away from Gendry and to the man "Yes. And you are to allow Gendry to attend the tourney." Mott was quickly taken aback, "My lord?" "Gendry will be acting as my squire for the duration of the Hand's Tourney." Mott's look seemed to sour, "Very good my prince. I will have the boy sent to you with your sword and armor on the morning of the tournemant." Bruce smiled at him, "Excenlent. I shall see you then Gendry. Goodbye, ser I hope to do buisness with you again." Bruce turned and walked away from them both and walked away.

As Bruce exited the blacksmith and a stable boy brought him his horse, he caught sight of Lord Stark and one of his men trotting up the hill toward him. He called out to him, smiling "Afternoon, Lord Stark. I trust you are well?" Eddard's eyes narrowed at him, "Well enough." he grunted. Bruce's smile dropped, "And Arya?" one of Stark's eyebrows rose, "As well as can be. She is with her dancing master." Both of Bruce's eyebrows rose, "Dancing master? I tought she wasn't the type to be fond of dancing." The Hand of the King dismounted his horse, "Nor did I. But she does tend to surprise." The two looked each other up and down, before Bruce turned to indicate the armourers "I trust you have come to have new armour fashioned then." Eddard's face turned sullen, "What for?" Bruce frowned, "You are taking part in the tourney, I trust." "No I am not. If I had my way there would be no tourney." Bruce nodded, "Then what are you doing here?" Stark's face turned even morw abrasive, "Hand's business." he said shortly. Bruce turned to look at the blacksmiths, then to the man behind Stark and finally to Stark himself before climbing onto his horse. "I'll not hold you up any longer then. Farewell my lord." Stark said nothing merely nodding at the prince, as he trotted off down the hill.

Bruce scowled to himself as he turned off at the boottom of the hill. What ever Stark was doing at the buisness and being so secretive of he could not even begin to imagine. 'I just hope I get left out of it.' He thought as he spurred on toward the Red Keep.


	14. Arya III

**Arya**

Arya looked on in fascination as they watched all the combatants ride forth, each more fabulous than the last. The seven knights of the Kingsguard took the field, all but Jaime Lannister in scaled white armour, their cloaks as white as freshfallen snow. Ser Jaime wore the white cloak as well, but beneath it he was shining gold from head to foot, with a lion's-head helm and a golden sword. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, thundered past them, shaking the earth. His brother Sandor snarling at the back of his brother's head from behind his dog helm, Arya scowled back she had not forgotten how he had almost had Nymeria's head back at the Trident. Other riders followed; Ser Balon Swann. Lord Bryce Caron of the Marches. Ser Andar Royce, and his younger brother Ser Robar. The twins Ser Horas and Ser Hobber, whose shields displayed the grape cluster sigil of the Redwynes. Six Freys of the king's brother, Lord Renly of Storm's End. Jory rode for Winterfell and the north. "Jory looks like a tramp among these others." Septa Mordane sniffed when he appeared. Arya had scowled at her for that, Arya had found an even deeper hatred for the aged Septa in the recent days since her dancing lessons had started.

Hundereds of other knights and riders followed. The kinght of flowers, Loras Tyrell; many of the girls in the crowd swooned over him as he entered, Sansa among them. Arya looked closely at the rider behind him. Shimmering in silver, a stag imprinted on his freshly polished breastplate. His shoulders, guarded by two roaring lions, his greaves were simple as were gauntlets plated steel painted silver. The stag-head helemet had two enourmous sets of jagged antlers protruded. A scarlett cloak was draped across his shoulder with a golden, roaring lion woven on it. It was the Prince Bruce, her father told her when she asked him as he sat beside her in the royal box.

The jousting went all day into dusk, the pounding of the horses down the field tearing the ground into shreads. The crowds jeered at the warriors as they passed them. The Kingslayer rode as great as any man. He overthrew Ser Andar Royce and the Marcher Lord Caron as thouh he were running rings around them. Sandor Clegane and his brother, Gregor the Mountain, seemed unstoppable, riding down one foe after the other. The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. After that came Lord Renly and the Hound. Renly was unhorsed so violently that he seemed to fly backward off his charger, legs in the air. His head hit the ground with an audible crack that made the crowd gasp, but it was just the golden antler on his helm. He took his defeat graciously, bowing to his nephew's sworn-shield, who meerly ignored him and rode off.

Then came a pair Arya found particularly interesting; Prince Bruce and a Dornish hedge kinght. The Dornishman had become a secret favourite of the crowd, unhorsing Beric Dondarrion and Ser Meryn Trent although he seemed half mad by the the cackling he had as he charged. Bruce had quite the favour of the crowd aswell, unhorsing Jory and both of the Redwyne twins. The two riders lined up at each other, Bruce in his stag helm and scarlett cloak flapping in the wind. The Dornishman wore a simple iron chest plate painted brown, but shone like bronze in the sun light. Both lowered their lances and brought shields up. Bruce was the first to kick off, at his father's command, the Dornishman did less so, but with the feavour of a mad man shouting, "Dying is the day worth living for!" as he charged for the prince. They thundered toward each other in great speed the crowd jeering as they approached. The crowd held their breath as the point of their lances smashed against each other, splintering against their shields, scattering shards of wood across the field. They circled the field and arrived to their oringinal spot, and called for new lances.

Lining up a second time, they lowered their lances and charged again. The crowds shouting grew even more feavourent as they approached again, the Dornishman cackeling and Bruce in a sullen silence. As they crashed against each other again, their lances shattered on impact against their shields again. The crowd booed as did King Robert, "Get on with it, Boy!" he shouted to his second son. Arya looked over to the king. He had been slowly plied full of more and more wine as the day went on. His paitence was growing thin, as his squire was finding out as his Grace's wine flagon emptied more often. Next to the king was queen Cersei, who meerly sat her nose turned up her son and the Dornish knight's on going joust. Beside their mother was the Crown Prince, who seemed much smaller without his guard dog, and his younger brother Tommen whose plump form leaned forward as he watched his brother. Infront of the royals was the Starks and the Princess Myrcella, who sat in between Arya and her sister, trying to match Sansa with her grace and failing.

Arya turned her attention back to the riders as they lined up for a third time. Bruce barked out to his squire savagely for another lance. Once he had it in his hand, and without a go from the king he thundered down the line at an inceedible speed, his horse kicking up mud as he did so. His opponent scarcely even had hold of his own lance, as he to charged. The crowd gasped as they met. The Dornishman's lance missed Bruce's shield by centimeters and collided with his shoulder, vaulting him from his horse. Silence gripped the crowd as Bruce sailed through the air, the silver of his armour glittering as he flew. Almost the entire royal box was on their feet as Bruce hit the ground with a violent crack and slid even further through the slick mud. To Arya's right Princess Myrcella let out a wail of horror when she saw the jagged piece of splintered wood jutting out of his shoulder. For the first time that day, King Robert was silent as he saw his son lying limp on the field. Queen Cersei looked horrorified at her son's immovable body. Only Joffery remained seated smirking to himself. Even Arya felt her stomach tighten at the sight of her saviour on the Trident flat on his back. The dornishman began to lap the field, his fist raised in triumph. But none cgeered for him, all remmained quietly fixed on the prince.

Eventually, the silence was broken by a faint groan.

They all sighed as the prince sat up. His armour dirtied, no longer reflecting the sun light. He starred round the field at all the spectators. They looked back. Finally he clambered to his feet, seemingly unaware to the ugly piece of lance sticking out of his shoulder. One of the antlers on his helm had broken and hung limply by a thread. Bruce finally seemed to notice the shard of wood and reached up to pull it from him, but it didn't seem to budge. THe dornish knight noticed his combatant had risen and rode over to him cackling even more so. As he approached he slowed laughing, "How the mighty have fallen." and spat on the prince. The crowd booed and the king rose to voice his protest, but all were silenced as, like lightening, Bruce ripped the wooden shard from his shoulder, spending out a splurting of blood and splinters, and slammed it into the rider's horse. The force behind it was so great the wood went all the way in until it reached where Bruce held it sending ripples through the horse flesh.

The horse reared and crashed to the ground, with it's rider still on. Shouting wild curses, the knight rose up and rounded on Bruce, who charged his head down. The one upright antler impacted against the man's chest, puncturing through his chest plate. Reeling from the attack he swung down on the back of the prince's bloodied shoulder. Bruce cried out in agony giving the dornishman the chance to kick him back, sending them both staggering back, Bruce clutching at his shoulder as more blood seeped out of the grotesque wound. The dornish knight acted quickly and drew a dagger. Arya looked to her father who now stood sharply to force the king to intervene but Robert rose as well shouting, "_Enough of this madness_!" The command fell on deaf ears as his son yanked his helmet off his head and flung it at the charging dornishman. Arya looked down the field to the shouting of Bruce's squire and Jaime Lannister sprinting down to them, followed by Ser Barristan and the other kingsguard. The stag's head hit the knight square in the chest and Bruce rushed to grab the dagger knocking them both to the ground. They both wrestled in the dirt and the mud. Arya couldn't hear the curses they both shouted at each other over the jeering of the crowd. She saw the muddied gauntlets of Bruce begin to wrap around the dornishman's neck as he began to pulled the dagger up toward the prince's face. Everyone, commoner and lord alike now cheered them on, lusting for blood.

Arya took note as the Kingslayer, now by his nephew's side began to pull him of the knight with the help of the young prince's squire. The crowd booed them as the tight pressing of the prince's fingers began to slack from the slippery mud. Finally, both squire and uncle pulled him away from the dornishman as they still swore threats and curses at each other. Now, Ser Barristan and the rest of the kingdguard arrived, half helping their commrade haul his nephew away, the others preventing the dornishman persue him as he slashed wldly at them. Arya looked to her father as he shook his head at the scene. The spectators looked toward the king for a verdict. Robert looked to his old friend pleadingly, who looked back and shook his again. The king sighed, and with no choice left, rose his arm in favour of the Dornish kinght. Arya looked on in fascination at exchange between her father and the king, for a moment it seemed as though they had switched places. As both combatants cleared the field and the crowd simmered down their roaring, the next two lined up.

In the end it came down to four; the Hound and his monstrous brother Gregor, Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer, and Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras was the youngest son of Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden. At sixteen, he was one of the youngest riders on the field, yet he had unhorsed three knights of the Kingsguard that morning in his first three jousts. His plate was intricately fashioned and enameled as a bouquet of a thousand different flowers. After each victory, Ser Loras would remove his helm and ride slowly round the fence, and toss a rose of varying colours to some fair maiden in the crowd.

By now the sky had grown fully dark and crowds began to disperce. The royal box emptied aswell, and headed back to the Red Keep. Inside the greathall tables and benches had been raised outside the pavilions, Arya herself had been seated to the right of the high table, where the king sat with his queen. Arya was sandwhiched in between her father and an empty chair. On the other side of the hightable Arya saw her sister, sat in between Septa Mordane and Prince Joffery it was then she reasoned the empty chair was for Bruce. Arya's eyes narrowed at Joffery word could not fathom her hatred for him at nearly having killed Nymeria.

Courses came and went as the night drew on and Arya began to long to be out of the hall. A thick soup of barley and venison. Salads of sweetgrass and spinach and plums, sprinkled with crushed nuts. Then came trout fresh from the river, and Arya felt herself begining crack. She turned to her father but was silenced as the grand wooden doors of the hall were opened. She looked over to exit to see who it was. Prince Bruce with his uncle the Kingslayer, strode into the hall many eyes went to them but it did not stop the continuous clangor and talk. Bruce's face was a mask, wearing the stone look he had when she first saw him, he wore red and gold robes with a gleeming fresh forged golden sword, hanging from his belt. A crowned stag cloak as thrown over his right shoulder that covered his arm, which he held close to his chest. Ser Jaime was all smiles in similar robes though he had the snow white cloak of the kingsguard. Each went their seperate ways, Bruce joining Arya and Jaime his fellows of the kingsguard.

Both Arya and Bruce sat neither eating anything but both scanning the crowd. Now that the prince had arrived Lord Eddard would never let her leave. After a while of sitting awkwardly Arya asked him, "Are you well? You looked like you got hurt bad in the joust." Bruce shook his head and grunted "I'm fine." Arya did not seem convinced but let the matter slide, "Will you still be in the melee?" Bruce simply nodded and looked to his father who was now bellowing at the top of his Robert had grown louder with each course. From time to time Arya could hear him laughing or roaring a command over the music and the clangor of plates and cutlery, but they were too far away for her to make out his words.

Now everybody heard him. "No," he thundered in a voice that drowned out all other speech. Arya was shocked to see the king on his feet, red of face, reeling, Bruce was less suprised. The king had a goblet of wine in one hand, "You do not tell me what to do, woman," he screamed at Queen Cersei. "I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!" Everyone was staring. Arya saw Ser Barristan, and the king's brother Renly, but no one made a move to interfere. The queen's face was a mask, her nose up turned but her eye twitched silently. The king ignored the protest from his council and pointed to his second son, "He get's knocked off his horse and still get's to compete. I don't even take up a mount and can't even compete." Joffery let out a laugh and all eyes moved to him, "You still aren't thinking of competing tomorrow brother" he said "I thought today was humiliation enough!" Bruce said nothing but much like his mother, his eye began to twitch. The king rounded on his eldest, "Quiet you! You should take after your brother and get into the melee." Joffery's cheeks redened but his reply was no less venomous, "But Father, I am merely allowing my brother his turn at playing knights." the hall was split between oohs and laughter. Arya looked to Bruce. He was slowly breathing in, and his left arm slithered across the table toward a carving knife which his fingers wrapped around.

King Robert unleashed himself upon Joffery, "Fuck you, boy. If you were half as clever as you think you and your mother think you were you'd realise that hiding behind her skirt is not the way to go forward. You kitten killing cunt!" Queen Cersei stood up sharply, screaching "How dare you say such a thing to your son and heir!" Joffery needed no intervention from his mother at this point. He had drawn his sword, Lion's Tooth and began to stalk round the table to his brother, "I'll show you hiding behind a skirt." he sneered at his father. "Fight me then, you coward!" he shouted at Bruce. Bruce vaulted the table, drawing his sword with his right hand and flinging the carving knife at Joffery with his left. Arya lunged over the table and grabbed Bruce's sword arm crying, "No! Don't! He's not worth it!"

All eyes now turned to her. She dug her nails into Bruce's wrist hard, he let out a hiss, releasing the built up air inside and lowered his arm. Now Lord Eddard stood and addressed the king calmly, "Your Grace, perhaps we should all call in for the night. The heat in here appears to be getting to people." the king looked to his old friend and nodded, simply stalking out the room followed by his guards and brother. After him went the queen followed by her army of servants and having to hand lead Joffery from the room. After that all the other's filled out of the room, until all that were left was Lord Stark, by the door, and Bruce with Arya's hands still firmly clutching at his arm. Eventually, she noted this and snatched them back blshing, Bruce face remained in the same stoney look "Thank you." he said, and Arya nodded back at him. Her father called to her and she went to him, together they walked out the hall toward the tower of the Hand. "That was a very brave thing you did, child." he told her as they walked, "I just hope tomorrow will be quiet." somehow, after all that had happened Arya doubted that.


	15. Eddard II

**AN:** I will reply to all reviews from this and the last part in the next one. Right now I'm just too tired.

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><p><strong><span>Eddard<span>**

Ned had hoped to discover the king still abed in a wine-soaked sleep, but luck was not with him. He found Robert inside his pavillion, drinking beer from a horn and roaring his displeasure at two young squires who were trying to buckle him into his armor. "Your Grace," one was saying, almost in tears, "it's made too small, it won't go." He fumbled, and the gorget he was trying to fit around Robert's thick neck tumbled to the ground. "Seven hells!" Robert swore. "Do I have to do it myself? Piss on the both of you." The lad jumped, and the king noticed his company. "Look at these oafs, Ned. My wife insisted I take these two to squire for me, and they're worse than useless. Can't even put a man's armor on him properly." Ned only needed a glance to understand the difficulty. He told the king bluntly, "You're too fat for your armor, Robert." Robert took a long swallow of beer, tossed the empty horn onto his sleeping furs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said darkly, "Fat? Fat, is it? Is that how you speak to your king?" He let go his laughter, like a thunderstorm. "Ah, damn you, Ned, why are you always right?"

The squires smiled nervously until the king turned on them. "You. Yes, both of you. You heard the Hand. The king is too fat for his armor. I need the breastplate stretcher. Fetch it! Now! What are you waiting for?" The boys fell over each other in a rush to get out of the tent. Both Ned and Robert managed to stifle their laughter until they left.

Robert bellowed his out, falling back into his chair as he did so. Eddard's was less so but it was soon gone and Eddard turned serious on his old friend again, "I thought the events of last night would have ended any thought of you entering the melee." The king growled and rounded on his Hand, "Did it balls, Stark. All it did was show everyone what I feared all along. Those boys can't be trusted together." Ned scrutinized his old friend, "I doubt calling Cersei's golden boy 'a kitten killing cunt' did anything to help the situation." The king cursed, "Even so you still have yet to tell me your plan's for the boy." he said. Stark merely nodded nad spoke,"I haven't told you because I haven't got a plan, yet." Robert sneered as his friend contiued, "You are sure Renly wont give him Storm's End." Robert laughed, "I told you Renly will never give up Storm's End. Even with a Royal Command." this wound Ned up to no end, his one final rout had seeled itself up. He had more than enough to contend with than have to find a place for Robert's sons.

"How is the boy? One doesn't take lance like that and come out without a few scars." said Ned, wanting to leave the topic of his future behind. Robert gave out a simple shrug, "The Grand Maester tells me he is fine. Patched his shoulder up and still seems to be competing to day. Gods Ned, he reminds me of myself." Eddard nodded he had seen it to. He had a look and temper of Robert about him, though he seemed to sound and think more like a Lannister. "Are you sure he should be competing?" asked Ned. Robert sighed, "I had hoped to compete with him." he said, looking pleadingly to his friend. Stark shook his head firmly and answered, "No. You are the king. You canno-" "I KNOW DAMMIT!" Robert roared in reply. The two friend stood captivated in silence, starring each other down.

The silence continued for sometime until a new squire entered the tent, Your breakfast, Your Grace." he said voice cracking. Robert motioned the boy in and a group of servants entered piling the table high with food for the king. When they left Eddard motioned to go as well but the king stopped him. "Sit." he said, "Break your fast with me." Ned did as he was bid, and soon all was forgotten as the two spent their meal talking of old times long gone. After their breakfast the two Ned left and called for the king's squires to help him dress. Lord Stark was sure to walk is friend to the royal box. He noted the seat in which the queen had occupied was empty as was that of Prince Joffery. In his place, beside to his brother and sister was the Prince Bruce. Eddard spoke to the prince as they approached, "Good morning, Your Grace. I trust you are well." Bruce nodded and replied, "Well enough for the melee. I can asure you." Robert laughed and clapped his son hard on his battered shoulder, "See Ned! I told you." Eddard seemed less convinced especially when he saw Bruce wince and rub his navigated his way down toward his daughters, and seated himself between them. He had promised to watch the final tilts with Sansa; Septa Mordane was ill today, and his daughter was determined not to miss the end of the jousting and leaving Sansa and her sister alone would be folly.

Trumpets sounded the renewal of the tournemant. Sandor Clegane was the first rider to appear. He wore soot-grey armor, and his hound's-head helm, were his only concession to ornament. "Two dozen silver stags on my Uncle!" announced loudly Bruce from beside his father, as Jaime Lannister entered the lists, gleeming head to toe in gold. "Done," Lord Renly shouted back. "The Hound has a hungry look about him this morning." but Bruce smiled gleefully "Aye. But lions do have a hunger for hounds, Uncle." the surrounding box laughed and Renly shook his head but Littlefinger intervened, "My Lord, if you are so confident. Why not two dozen gold dragons?" the prince shrugged and answered "Not all of us can compare to your wealth, My Lord." Littlefinger seemed satisfied and all eyes turned to the field.

Sandor Clegane dropped his visor with an audible clang and took up his position. Ser Jaime rode to the end of the lists. Both men took up their lances. Ned Stark would have loved nothing so well as to see them both lose. The hastily erected gallery trembled as the horses broke into a gallop. The Hound leaned forward as he rode, his lance rock steady, but Jaime shifted his seat deftly in the instant before impact. The riders met and their lances crashed against the opponents shield. Wood shattered, and the Hound reeled, fighting to keep his seat. Sansa gasped. A ragged cheer went up from the commoners. Across the field a body with a lion helm rolled in the dirt. Ned smiled. "A pity the Imp is not here with us," Lord Renly said, as he caught the bag of silver flung at him. "I should have won twice as much."

Ser Gregor Clegane was in position at the head of the lists. He was huge, the biggest man that Eddard Stark had ever seen. When the Knight of Flowers made his entrance, a murmur ran through the crowd, and he heard Sansa's fervent whisper, "Oh, he's so beautiful." Both Ned and Arya rolled their eye's at that. Gregor was having trouble controlling his horse. The stallion was screaming and pawing the ground, shaking his head. The Mountain kicked at the animal savagely with an armored boot. The horse reared and almost threw him. The Knight of Flowers saluted the king, rode to the far end of the list, and couched his lance, ready. Ser Gregor brought his animal to the line, fighting with the reins. And suddenly it began. The Mountain's stallion broke in a hard gallop, plunging forward wildly, while the mare charged smoothly. Ser Gregor wrenched his shield into position, juggled with his lance, and all the while fought to hold his unruly mount on a straight line, and suddenly Loras Tyrell was on him, placing the point of his lance just right, and in the blink of an eye the Mountain was failing. The crowd was buzzing in feaverish cheers and shocking gasps, as Ser Loras lapped the field to in front of the royal box.

In the middle of the field, Ser Gregor Clegane came to his feet. He wrenched off his helm, his face was dark with fury and his hair fell down into his eyes. "My sword," he shouted to his squire, and the boy ran it out to him. Gregor Clegane killed the horse with a single blow. Cheers turned to shrieks in a heartbeat. The stallion went to its knees, screaming as it died. By then Gregor was striding down the lists toward Tyrell, his bloody sword clutched in his fist. "Stop him!" Ned shouted. Everyone else was yelling as well, and Sansa was crying. It all happened so fast. The Knight of Flowers was shouting for his own sword as Ser Gregor knocked his squire aside and made a grab for the reins of his horse. The mare scented blood and reared. Loras Tyrell kept his seat barely. Ser Gregor swung his sword, a savage two-handed blow that took the boy in the chest and knocked him from the saddle. The courser dashed away in panic as Ser Loras lay stunned in the dirt. But as Gregor lifted his sword for the killing blow, a rasping voice warned, "Leave him be," and a steel-clad hand wrenched him away from the boy.

The Mountain pivoted in wordless fury, swinging his longsword in a killing arc with all his massive strength behind it, but the Hound caught the blow and turned it, and for what seemed an eternity the two brothers stood hammering at each other as a dazed Loras Tyrell was helped to safety. It was the king's voice that put an end to it and the twenty swords at his back. "STOP THIS MADNESS," he boomed, "IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!" The Hound went to one knee. Ser Gregor's blow cut air, and at last he came to his senses. He dropped his sword and glared at Robert, surrounded by his Kingsguard, his son and a dozen other knights and guardsmen. Wordlessly, he turned and strode off, shoving past Barristan Selmy. "Let him go," Robert said, and as quickly as that, it was over.

A few moments later Ser Loras Tyrell walked back onto the field in a simple linen doublet and said to Sandor Clegane, "I owe you my life. The day is yours, ser." "I am no ser," the Hound replied, but he took the victory, and the champion's purse, and, for perhaps the first time in his life, the love of the commons. They cheered him as he left the lists to return to his pavilion.

Then they all made their way over to the melee field. Stark heard the mumering of Renly and Littlefinger over the final joust. As they approached Bruce stalked off to ready the arena hundereds of spectators filled the stands roaring with blood lust. An eager array of commoner and nobleman alike assembled for death, terror and monstrosity. Robert had insisted on live steel. "No tourney blades here." he told Ned "Live steel. You're out when your back hits the dirt no other rules."

The royal box filled, and the crowd cheered the apperance of their king. The party was joined by the once missing Queen Cersei and Prince Joffery. Everyone waited with savage expectation, for the warriors to enter. Stark turned his nose up at them. Why in the South was there such a craving for blood and death which gripped all the people so ferouciously? A few lone squires came out and laid frsh white sand upon the ground. The stage was set, and the combatants walked in.

The must have been near forty men took part, freeriders and hedge knights and new-made squires in search of a was a chaos of mud and blood, small troops fighting together and then turning on each other as alliances formed and fractured. Suddenly, they all saw him - Bruce the king's son: a freshly bloodied longsword in one hand, a small shield upon his arm blazened with the crowned stag and lion of his houses and han-hammer dangling from his belt; his eyes burning like those of a bird of prey. He had the manner of a man whose pride has gone unchecked, whose spirit had never been broken. Tall and strong he surveyed the crowd with arrogant defiance. Never before in all his years of warfare had Lord Eddard seen such a thing. He moved with a deadly graceful ease in his armour of gilded steel with his head laid bear and hair slickened back with sweat. But what arrogant dignity he displayed! It was as if he were a the only free man there who fought from choice not at the will of others. Lord Eddard knew then why Robert was so determined to take part in the melee. He wanted this. The crowd chanting his name, hanging off his every move, ignorant to the other battles surrounding. Even Ned found himself envying him.

The prince cut down many foes as he made his wasy to the center of the field. There he was confronted, by the Kinght of Flowers. He was armed with sword and shield and known to be quick and dangerous. Sword thrust, sabre lunged, steel flashing in the sunlight. Bruce slashed at his opponents sword-arm and the blood ran free. A mighty blow to the chest with a shield brought Ser Loras crashing to his knees. Bruce towered above him, his sword held high in both hands. And the cry of the crowd changed once more. Loras laid bear his neck for the death blow, but it never fell. Bruce kicked Tyrell down into the dirt. The common folk booed, but the nobles gathered themselves and applauded his defiance of their wishes. They understood, he was in control.

The field began to thin and the prince fought off both Balon Swann and Meryn Trent alone. Stark's eyes swept the field, he saw Ser Jaime battling the red priest, Thoros of Myr. And then he clapped onto where the rest of the crowd and the prince looked. Ser Barristan was having his hands full with the Dornishman from yesterday. Ned looked to the prince. He itched his shoulder and stalked toward the Dornishman, longsword in hand, his vengence would be swift. The hedge knight faught with a bronze tipped spear alone, in simple iron and leather, all painted brown. Liked lightening he vaulted using his spear, kicking Ser Barristan in the sand and whirled round to where he heard the chanting crow, shouting his own words, "Dying is the day worth living for!" and he charged. Steel glimmered like flashes in a thunder storm as the two went back and forth trading blows. Steel would scrape against iron occatoionally and crowd would cheer on their prince.

But the knight would not be beaten so easily, and he darted forward sharply trying to poke at the prince's unguarded face. Bruce lashed out instictively and tried to bat the spear away but it would be gone in a flash and he would be swinging at air. The hedge knight moved to out manauver his opponent but Bruce to had speed as well and swung wide a final time cleeving the spear in two. The dornishman threw the useless pieces of wood aside and spun forward catching Bruce off guard. The knight elbowed the prince in the shoulder sending him yelling out in agony as he pushed him away. HIs longsword hit the sand with clang, Lord Eddard looked to the crowd who were silenced in horror. The Dornishman cackled and whipped out a dagger as Bruce kneeled clutching his shoulder, faint trickles of blood seeping out his armour. The man from Dorne charged and, as he neared the prince, Bruce lunged his arms out flipping the man over him, he then made a mad dash for the dagger and brought him close, like a lover. When Bruce held the dagger above his head and roared out in rage in the man's face, Ned understoodthere would be no barter with the crowd, as there had been with Loras Tyrell.

Blood splurtted out of the beaten foe's open throat and Bruce stagerred away from him clutching his shoulder. Opening his breastplate, Bruce fell to his knees in front of the royal box. Fresh blood flowed from the reopened wound as the prince ripped the tattered bandages away. Just as the crowd seemed on the verge of enourmace jubilation for their champion, there was a sickening tap of steel and a joyful voice said, "Good performance, sweet nephew."

All eyes went to Ser Jaime, whose armour and hair were scorched and dirtied with blood and soot and sand. Gasps of shock rippled out of the crowd as Lannister walked around his nephew, his sword held beneath Bruce's chin. "Well done," he said to his nephew "quite the show you delivered us. Now yield." It almost seemed as though Jaime were trying to provoke his nephew's wroth when he told him that. Like a pouncing lion Bruce swept his hands up and wrapped his fingers around the sword, forcing it away from his face, "I'm afraid I cannot do that, uncle." said Bruce with an air of laughter around his voice. Ser Jaime looked to his nephew quizically, "Give 've nothing left to fight with." Bruce grinned and removed a hand from the sword and unclipped the hammer from his belt and presented it to his uncle, "I have this."

Bruce lashed out at his uncle wildly, frocing him away. Steel clanged against black-iron and the entire royal box was on their feet, all knew this would not end well. Cersei had her hands crossing her face in horror, Robert simply looked on stunned. Tommen and Myrcella watched in awe at their brother and uncle. Arya was leaning over the edge of the box so as to be as close to the battle as possible. Only Ned and Joffery remaned seated the both leant forward on edge of their seats.

Bruce drove Jaime back wildly roaring in rage and banging his left fist on his chest as he did so. Stark knew this fighting welll though he had seen it once, it was Robert on the Trident. Eventually, Lannister stood his ground and kicked his nephew to the ground near the Dornishman's corpse. Upon seeing the dagger jutting out of his neck Bruce grabbed it and flung it at the Kingsguard. Jaime batted it away and charged Bruce tried to meet him but all momentum was lost as Jaime forced it back on him. Again he kicked him sending his nephew back through the sand, his hammer falling beside him. Bruce tried to reach out for it, but when Lannister put his foot on his arm and blade back under his chin. Haggard and being drained of blood Bruce's head lolled back, defiant to the end.

All began to applaud the Kingslayer for his victory and for their fallen champion. Stark leaned over to his youngest daughter, "Will you fight like that, Little One?" Arya smiled at him, "No, " she answered shaking her head "Better."


	16. Bruce IV

**Master of Dragons God**: Thank you. Again.

**Evaline101**: You've had intense. Get ready for the feels

**Bruce**

It had been four days since the tourney and five since he had taken the lance to the shoulder, yet the pain was still as ferocious as it had been since he had first recieved it. Though having it reopened by taking part in the melee probaly had done him little favours. As a result of this Bruce had been confined mainly to the Red Keep, more specifically his room and bed. Despite this Bruce was coping very well with his idleness. Myrcella and Tommen would arrive mid-morning and spend the mornings up until midday with him when Maester Pycelle would arrive to redress his wound in white silken bandages. After that he would read for an hour or two after he ate and his uncle would arrive, smiling and teasing his nephew about his defeat. They would mainly talk for an hour and Jaime would leave to take up his shift with the king and Pycelle would return with essance of nightshade and milk of poppy to relieve him of the pain and help him sleep. Though today was different.

It started the same, he woke late and groggily changed into fresh clothes and Myrcella and Tommen arrived, though this time they were escorted, not by the septa or a guard, but their mother. Bruce was not entirely sure what to make of it, as his mother stood half inside the room dressed in red silk, her eyes gleeming. Finally she spoke to him, "We were just going out to the gardens. Would you like to join us?" Bruce looked her up and down, she wore a neutral expression and held her hands together across her belly. Then his gazed flicked to Tommen and Myrcella stood behind their mother, smiling gleefully. Bruce flashed them a grin he understood they had put their mother up to it so he nodded eagerly, "I'd love to. Thank you." Bruce felt shocked when he saw the edges of his mother's mouth turn upward into what appeared to be a genuine smile, as she led her childeren out of the room.

Bruce held the back of the train of mother and childeren, slowly limping as they wandered through the long stone corridors of the Red Keep. Passing old relics of Targaeryen days long gone. Suits of armour, grand tapestries and paintings of battles, dead kings and knights from the old stories. They passed under a large doorway and out into one of the palace gardens. New blooming flowers littered the path ways, as the sunlight beated down upon them. Trees formed archways with their long branches as they towered over them. As they walked the path ways Cersei turned off into a large opening. In it was a stone bench, surrounded by blue flowers and the greenest grass. On sat the bench sat their uncle, Ser Jaime.

Jaime frowned at his twin when he saw Bruce staggering in. "He should still be in bed." Jaime said firmly as he stood. Cersei seemed indifferent to the fact, "Tommen and Myrcella would not come with out him." she said smiling as her youngest hugged his uncle at the waist. Bruce flashed his uncle a grin sharp enough to cut his own in half, "And it is a beautiful day," he noted, gesturing to the sun "It would be a shame to spend it inside." Myrcella nodded at this and tugged on her brother's arm, "Yes! Come and help me pick flowers, Bruce." Bruce shook his head at this, "I'm afraid I cannot, little one. I need to sit for a while first, the walk down has tired me out." Myrcella and her little brother gave the older their best pout. Bruce smiled at them, if Jaime had wanted to break him quicker in the melee he should have come armed with these two. But sensing his nephew on the verge of breaking, Jaime stepped in, lifting up Tommen onto his shoulders "Let your brother rest, sweet niece. Your brother and I will help." Both childeren giggled as their uncle led them off.

This left mother and son alone, Bruce trudged toward the stone bench his uncle had occupied. Cersei saw her son struggling and went to help placing her arms around his afflicted arm, helping him down to the seat. "Does it still hurt?" she asked, the worried tone in her voice betraying the steady look on her face. Bruce waved her off, but gave a gentle cry as he tried to lean forward. Cersei eased her son back to rest his head on the back of the bench as she rubbed his shoulder. Bruce smiled at his mother, "Don't let Joffery catch us. We both know what he is like when he's jealous." His mother did not reply as she contiued to rub. The two simply sat there alone, silent as the grave. A cry went out, Myrcella had found a worm, but neither mother or son moved to look. The queen was the first to speak, "It was very impressive what you did. Few men can best Ser Loras in combat." The prince shrugged, "I still didn't win." His mother smiled, "Did you expect to?" she asked. No reply was given and they returned to silence.

A bird called out from one of the trees. The prince looked to Cersei, "Why me and not Joffery?" he said simply. She sighed and shook her head. Bruce could tell she did not want to do this. "He was not like you." her answer came and Bruce frowned. Cersei moved her hand to touch her second borns face "You always had so much of your father in you. Joffery, he... didn't." the frown resolved, "Joffery always wanted me when I was with you. As soon as you were walking I brought you everywhere. You were always mine." Cersei smiled at the memories, "But Joffery would never be far behind. Once I left you both alone for a moment. Just a moment, I don't even recall what it was. When I returned Joff had you by your hair, even then you kept it long." Cersei began to wove her fingers into the black locks, "He held a knife he'd found at breakfast to your hair. Wanted to cut it for you. But you kicked and screamed so hard." Cersei began to rub a circle in the side of her sons head, "I stoped him, but when your father caught wind..." she trailed off. Cersei sniffed and shook her head, "I never wanted any of you to go, but Tommen was still babe. I thought I could handle Joff, myself. You were always so strong. If any could do it, it was you." Mother and son sat starring at each other, both ready to fall in each others arms. Eyes wide and tears brimming the edges.

Suddenly, Tommen approached them and the two broke apart. "Look mother. I brought you these." Tommen held out a bunch of blubells and red roses in his plump hands. Cersei took them from him, and brought her youngest to sit on her lap "Would you like to hear a story?" she asked him. Tommen nodded heavily. "Which story?" she question, tickling his belly. Tommen shrugged and giggled. Bruce leaned forward shyly, "Could you tell the one about the lion and her cub?" he whispered.

Cersei turned and smiled to him, "Once there was a mother lion and her little cub. They lived in the woods." "The Kingswood?" Tommen asked. "Yes, my love." Cersei answered as she turned back to tickle him gently, "In the Kingswood there lived a mother and her cub. She loved him very much. But there were other things that lived in the woods. Evil things." Tommen reared his head again, "Like what?" This time Bruce answered, "Dragons, and snakes and wolves." Cersei continued. "He could hear them howling in the night. The little cub was frightened." Cersei turned back to Bruce, "His mother said, 'You are a lion, my son. You mustn't be afraid. For one day all the beasts will bow to will be the stags will bow, all the wolves will bow. The bears in the north and the foxes of the south, all the birds in the sky and the beasts in the sea - they will all come to you, little lion to rest a crown upon your head.' And the cub said, 'Will I be strong and fierce like my father?' 'Yes,' said his mother. 'You will be strong and fierce just like your father.' And the cub was no longer afraid." Bruce felt ready to cry.

Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat as he faught the tears back. His mother reached out to him again, and stroked his face. Myrcella called out for Tommen and he rushed to her, leaving the two alone again. Bruce shuffled toward Cersei and she wrapped her arms around him bring him close. They stayed like that for along time. Eventually, Bruce's tears stopped and he sat up straight again. The queen reached out to wipe the remaining tears away from her sons redened face. "Thank You." he sniffed, but Cersei smiled again, "T'was nothing."


	17. Jaime II

**DannyMcDingles****: **It's a side I rather like and feel isn't portrayed enough

**Evaline101**: Of course she is still up to something. It's Cersei.

**Master of Dragons God**: like this; www. deviantart art/Leo- 275336187

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><p><strong><span>Jaime<span>**

"I knew this game was a bad idea."

Jaime shook his head and growled at his nephew. "If you think that then why did you bother suggesting it." Bruce shrugged at his uncle as his eyes scanned through the bushes and trees of the gardens. "I didn't expect you to actually encourage it." he said to the Kingsguard as their feet crunched the gravel beneath them. Jaime's green eyes scimmed the foliage around them as he spoke, "When have you known me to not encourage you from doing anything? That's your mother's job." Bruce shook his head and contiued to limp onward, eyes darting everywhere. "I thought different rules might apply when an _eight_ year-old is concerned." "When has Tommen ever been treated any different than you!" Jaime snorted back. Bruce didn't answer and kept walking.

They took a turn through one of the gardens. "TOMMEN!" Bruce shouted and Jaime shushed him, "Quiet, you dolt! Do you want your mother to find out we lost your brother!" Bruce brought his hands around his mouth, "Do you have any better ideas? TOMME- OW!" Jaime brought his hand back from his nephw's shoulder, "Once more and I'll do it again." Bruce gave his uncle a snarl, "There was no call for that." Jaime brushed off the comment as they rounded a corner into one of the larger gardens. "Maybe we shou- Oh!" Jaime halted and Bruce swerved to avoid him. Bruce frowned at his uncle. "What? Oh! Hello ladies." he said flashing a grin

In the center of the garden, surrounding a long rounded table were the women of the Stark Household and their direwolves. At the head of the table was an old Septa, bony face and sharp eyes and a thin, lipless mouth. Beside her, on her right Jaime knew to be Sansa Stark, with her high cheekbones, vivid blue eyes and thick auburn hair and wolf pup matching her in gracefullness. To her left was a girl unfamiliar to Jaime. She was very pretty with brown eyes and dark hair of a Northener. Opposite them was Lord Eddard's youngest girl, Arya and her own wolf. "Good afternoon, Your Grace, Ser Jaime." said the Septa, rising from her chair. Both Bruce and Jaime bowed their heads to them. Bruce stepped toward them, his limp disappearing and back straightening. "Madame. Lady Sansa. Arya." he sais nodding to each of them. Jaime rolled his eyes and followed his nephew, "Excuse us. We were just going." The youngest Stark girl leapt out of seat, "Where are you going?" she asked Bruce. He shrugged, "No where in particular." Jaime raised an eyebrow at the back of his nephew's head.

Jaime then looked to Arya. Unlike her sister and the other girl who wore dresses of silk, was dressed in black breeches and a tight white dress shirt. Her hair was ragged and jutting out in random places. "We were just talking, my prince. Would you care to join us?" said Sansa, pushing her hair behind her ear. Bruce took another few steps toward the table but Jaime raised his hand to his mouth and coughed out somthing resmbling 'Tommen', and he stopped. "I'm afraid we cannot. Though perhaps you could help us." answered Jaime as he moved up to Bruce, his hand reaching to squeaze his good shoulder. Arya reared her head, "What with?" the Septa looked ready to say something but was silenced by Jaime's answer, "We are looking for Prince Tommen. We looked in the castle but we could not find him." Jaime lied, although that was probably good place to look.

Arya raised a brow and looked over the Kingsguard. "What makes you think he's out here?" she asked. Bruce replied to her, "He likes the flowers." Jaime looked to his nephew quizically as did the rest of them, though the younger Stark girl just seemed to laugh. The Septa scolded her and turned to the two men, "I'm afraid we have not seen him, My Lords. Perhaps we should alert the guard?" Jaime and Bruce both reacted instinctivly "No!" This shocked the girls, who all fliched back. The kingsguard recovered quickly, "We mean, we would not want to cause any reason for panic... yet." The Bruce betrothed wriggled from her seat, "I'll help you look." she said approaching them both. Jaime sighed. The last thing he needed was Lord Eddard's daughter boosting his nephew's ego while Tommen was missing. He addressed the wild looking girl, "Thank you. But we wouldn't want to interfere with your lessons." The kingsguard began to pull his nephew back out the garden. Arya continued to follow them replying, "My lesson finished an hour ago. I'm just here for the food." The direwolf padded after her.

The unlikely quartet paced through the gardens of the Red Keep in a row. There eyes were peeled for the wisp of blond hair kept by Tommen. The kingsguard keeping the right, Bruce the center and Arya the left with Nymeria walking beside her. "I never did thank you." said the Stark girl. This roused Bruce, "Who?" "You." "Me?" Arya smiled at him, "For back on the Trident me." If Jaime didn't know his nephew so well he would have swore he was blushing. "Was nothing special." he asured her, "I'm just sorry you didn't get to share in the fun." Arya now turned toward Jaime, "And thanks to you for bringing Nymeria back to me." the pup gave an affectionate bark that Jaime somehow found rather disgruntling, so he merely grunted.

"Maybe we should split up." sugested Arya. Jaime stopped and looked to his nephew his lips curved in a sly smile. Bruce stopped and gave similar smile. When Jaime then raised his eyebrow, Bruce changed to a more pleading look. Jaime sighed and shook his head, "Very well then." Bruce smiled at his uncle and pointed down one of the gardens "Arya, you and I will go this way." His hand then turned to another path in the opposite direction, "Uncle, you and Nymeria can go that way." If looks could kill Bruce would certainly be dead, Bruce could tell from the way his uncle glowered at him as he strode off. When Arya followed him, and Nymeria her, Jaime realized he would almost certainly be the one who found Tommen. All he worried about was how long it would be before he did.


	18. Bruce V

**Master of Dragons God****:** Indeed

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><p><strong><span>Bruce<span>**

"Do give your sister my regards, Ser Loras." said Bruce as he saluted the young knight as he and his commrade's left through one of the many gate's of King's Landing. Loras simply straightened in his horse and ignored the comment. "The first to arrive and the last to leave." said Lord Renly from beside his nephew "I wonder why that would be. Any ideas, uncle?" said Bruce flashing the Lord of Storm's End a grin. Renly's face simply redened as he turned away from his nephew and toward his horse. "I'm not entirly sure what your suggesting." he sniffed at Bruce, his pride wounded. Bruce merly laughed as he mounted his brown stallion.

The two had been sent as representatives of the King in order to bid farewell to the final knights of the tournemant. As the pair trotted down the street Bruce looked to his uncle. "Is it true about Eddard and my Father?" he asked the older. The master-of-laws turned to the prince as he spoke. "I'm afraid so. Lord Eddard plans to return North with his entire Household." Bruce frowned as he inquired, "All of them?" Renly smiled at the younger. "What's the matter? Some one caught your eye?" he questioned in mock suprise. Bruce snorted as he mimicked, "I'm not entirly sure what your suggesting." The two laughed as they contnued toward the Red Keep.

As they approached the castle they looked as the portculis rose and out marched a large group of armed and mounted men in red and gold. At their head was Ser Jaime, fully armoured and white cloak adorned. Both the Renly and Bruce stopped as the group filled out the gate. Bruce leaned over to Renly. "You better go inside. I'll find out what's going on." Renly looked as though he was ready to protest, but as the Kingslayer approached and the snarl he wore became more and more vivid, he thought better of it. Giving his nephew a short, sharp nod and galloped past the Lannister men into the keep.

Bruce approached his oldest uncle cautiously. "Jaime, what are you doing?" Bruce asked him, as the collum halted. Jaime turned to his nephew, fiercly jerking the reigns of his horse to face him. "Catelyn Tully has kidnapped Tyrion." he spat in anger. Bruce reeled back in suprise as he cried, "What?!" Jaime repeated himself, "Stark's wife has taken Tyrion. Father is assembling his forces for a march on Riverun. I'm riding to meet him." Bruce frowned at is uncle as he inquired further, "How would Tully take Tyrion? She is meant to be in Winterfell." The ever impaitent Jaime had little paitence left by now as he turned to lead his riders away, replying "I don't no. Nor do I care, but I will find out soon enough." Jaime then spurred onward kicking up dust as his men-at-arms spurred on into the Red Keep, his mind buzzing with questions and anger. He dismounted his horse in the courtyard and stormed off to the Tower of the Hand. A rather rash plan brewing in his mind.

Bruce barked out at the first Stark man he saw, "Where is Lord Eddard?" The fat guard looked offended as he grunted out his reply, "In the city with Lord Littlefinger, My Lord." Bruce cursed, "Where is Arya?" The man's brow raised, "In her room." he said. "Show me." He lead Bruce up the stairs of the tower to a corridor and pointed to a door on the left. Bruce gave the man a final order, "Go and find Lord Varys. Tell him he is to meet me at my chambers immediantly." He gave the prince a grunt and a nod and left. Bruce approached the door marked as Arya's and banged hard on the door three times. No answer. He banged on it another three times and gave her a fierce shout, "Arya! Open the door! Now!" his voice reflected off the stone walls sending the message further than he wanted. After that she opened the door and looked at him angrily. "What do you want?" she demanded. Bruce moitioned for her to follow with a jerk of his head. "Follow me. And bring Nymeria." he commanded. She narrowed her eyes, but did as he asked all the same.

He led her back down the steps, out into the courtyard and toward the main part of the Keep. "Where are we going?" Arya asked with Nymeria trailing behind her. Bruce's reply was short but clear, "My room." If Arya seemed at all concerned by this fact she did not voice it as he led her up the steps leading to the royal apartments. He entered his chamber briskly, all but kicking the door open and he opened his wardrobe. Arya and the wolf walked in nervously behind him. "Close the door." he barked at her. She did so and turned to him. "Why am I here?" she asked putting her hand across her chest defensivly. Bruce hauled out vaious pieces of armour and threw them on to his bed as he spoke. "I have to leave King's Landing imediately. I can't say why right now, but I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." He threw his sword on to the bed. "I don't want to leave you here on your own with Joffery. And I think your father may no longer be able to protect you." Arya frowned at that, but held her tounge. "Things in King's Landing may get out of hand soon. I want you to promise me that at the first sign of trouble you will leave here." He cast his hammer over to the bed, it hit against his breastplate with a clang. "Where do you want me to go? And how do you suppose I get there?" She asked as he pulled a frsh white shirt from the cupboard. "Outside of here, down those steps and behind the painting of the Battle of Redgrass Field there is passage that leads down to the kitchens." Bruce pulled off his clothes. Leaving him naked aside from his loin cloth. "From there it's just a quick run down a flight of stairs into the city. Find Mud Gate and leave the city out of it there's an old fisherman's house on the shore of the Blackwater. I'll have someone meet you there. He'll take you somewhere safe." Bruce said as he approached Arya.

He grabbed one of her arms and shook her gently. "Do you understand?" he whispered. It was taking all of Arya's will power to continue looking him in the eye, but she could not help the redening of her face at his nakedness. She nodded gently. He released her arm, and walked over to a table. There he picked up the dagger he won from the Dornish knight and returned to hand it to her. "I hope you never have to use it." He told her sincerly and went back to his bed.

There was a gentle knock on the door and Nymeria growled at it. "You should go." said Bruce simply as he pulled the fresh shirt over his head. Arya stepped forward, "When will I see you again?" That caught him off guard. He hadn't expected such a question, if any. In truth he did not know. "Soon." he lied. They bid farewell and Arya opened the door and lead Nymeria out stepping past the man who had knocked. As she left a soft voice greeted her, "Lady Stark." She ignored him and continued onward.

The door opened futher and in stepped the eunuch, Varys. The spider was plump and completely, bald dressed in soft purple velvet and gently smiling. He bowed to Bruce "My prince. I must confess I did not expect such an honour." said the eucuch approaching the prince. Bruce fixed breastplate to him and tightened it at the side as he adressed Varys, "How quickly can you get a message to all the castles and towns and villages north of Bitterbridge and south of Harrenhall?" Varys' look changed to one of curiosity, "I trust you heard of you uncle's capture." Bruce growled but nodded all the same. He was in no mood to play this game. "Answer the question Lord Varys." he said firmly. Varys with drew his soft hand from the velvet and held them together. "A day or two, my prince. What message would you like to send." Bruce fixed his spaulders in place. "Let it be known; that the Prince Bruce Lannister, Heir to Casterly Rock and son of the king, is looking for men to fight with him. All men wishing to serve will recive a silver stag for every man they kill. Any man interested should present themselves to where the Balckwater Rush meets the Gold Road one week from now, armed and armoured."

Varys seemed impressed with young prince's actions despite how extreme they were. "Very good, my prince. However, I must ask you one thing in return." Bruce accepted this term resolutly. "I have scarcly ever spoken or been in the same room as you. Why did you summon me?" Bruce, finished with his armour now done, strapped his weapons to his belt as he replied, "You are the spider. We may not have met but I have heard all the rumours of you. You seem to know things half the world away before they happen. Who better to send such a message in such haste." Varys seemed satisfied as he bowed to leave. "I shall pray for your safe return, my prince." Bruce nodded as he finished arming himself and dorned his lion skin and throwing his Baratheon cloak over his shoulder. "Tell my father where I've gone." he told the eunuch as he left him alone in his chambers

His armour clicked and clacked as he marched out into the courtyard, where his horse still stood pawing at the ground. As he mounted up, Ser Meryn Trant came striding into the courtyard, his white cloak flapping behind him. "The Queen requests your presence, Ser. She does not wish to be kept waitng." he said looking up to the prince. Bruce simply shrugged telling the Kingsguard, "Then tell her not to wait. I'm going out and shan't be back for some time." He spurred onward, out of the Red Keep.

He galloped up the Street of Steel with great speed to the top. Once he reached the shop atop the hill he jumped down from his stallion and barged his way inside to be met by a surprised Tobho Mott. "I would speak with Gendry, ser." he ordered and without fail Mott scrambled out to find his apprentice. A moment later Gendry appeared holding a silver lion head helm with antlers jutting out. "M'lord, I finished the helmet you requested." Gendry told him presenting Bruce the helmet. Bruce took it and thanked him. "Now, I would ask something more of you." said Bruce as he pulled out to three gold dragons. "M'lord?" uttered Gendry, his eyes fixed on the gold. Bruce told him that he was leaving and how the situstion in King's Landing could soon become very dire. "If things should go wrong in the city or in the Red Keep I want you to go out to the Blackwater and find an abandoned fisherman's house on the edge. A friend of mine will be hiding there. Take these dragons and buy two horses and food and head North to Winterfell." Gendry nodded and took the dragons. Bruce held out his hand. "Can I count on you?" he asked. Gendry took the hand and nodded.

As Bruce thundered out of King's Landing on the Gold Road he felt a very distinct feeling building in the bottom of his stomach. 'Was this how one felt on the road to war?' he thought as spurred on to the faint glimmer of gold in the distance that was his uncle's party. 'Or was it just the feeling you get when you know you are about to have an earful off of Westeros's best swordsman?'


	19. Tywin I

**Evaline101****: **You're not the only one.

**KunnegAndris****: ** So many question, so few answers. Hope you enjoy this one as much as the last.

**Master of Dragons God****:** Indeed it has.

**Tywin**

Most men would have smiled and clapped their grandson on thge back for being able to raise one thousand men at arms and two hundered freeriders in the space of a week. But Tywin Lannister was not most men. However he was surprised, even if he didn't show. When he had sent for Jaime the last thing he expected was his first and only squire to be riding with them, let alone with twelve hundered men in tow. In some way he was certainly proud at the feet.

"You've done well." the old lion told his grandson as they stood inside his private tent in the center of the camp. The young prince thanked him as he stood his new helm under his left arm. The Lord of Casterly Rock examined his daughter's son. He had definately grown in the few years in which he had left The Rock. His shoulders begining to broarden, the faint whisps of beard he had two years ago had grown out to for more of a bushy line that stretched from his right ear, across his chin, to the other ear. The roaring lion draped over the princes head, the most intriguing feature, caught the intrest of Lord Tywin. "Where did you get that?" he asked his grandson motioning to the top of his head. The princes eyes looked up to where hid grandfather had indicated. "My coming of age hunt." Bruce answered binging his eyes back to meet his grandfather's. Tywin nodded, "Impressive." he said simply.

The old lion motioned for the younger to join him at the table. Across it was a large map of Westeros with three lions clumped together just outside Casterly Rock, two fishes on top of where it said Riverrun and a wolf on it. When the young lion joined the old at the table Tywin picked up one of the lions and spoke, "Your uncle will take half our half our force and lay seige to Riverun." He then picked up one of the fishes and placed on the Golden Tooth. "Edmure Tully rides south with his father's bannermen." Finally he took another lion and placed it on the Trident. "We will march North and stop any of the other River lords marching on Jaime." Bruce nodded and pushed the lion off his head as he adressed his commander. "Who will hold The Rock in your stead?" he asked, his eyes gazing over the map. Tywin regarded his heir thoughtfully. "Your uncle Stafford." he said, "When battle comes you and your men will be in the reserve." The young lion nodded. "What news from King's Landing?" he asked. Tywin strode off to the side and picked up two goblets and flagon of wine as he answered, "Ned Stark still sits as Hand of the King. He has sent riders out to sieze Ser Gregor for his raids into the Riverlands. Your uncle's folly in enaging Stark has only riled him. It won't be long before his son calls his banners and marchs south." Bruce nodded his head.

"What of Tyrion?" he asked his grandfather. The Warden of the West filled both goblets and handed one to the prince. "Catelyn Stark was last seen heading toward the Vale of Arryn. It seems she has our riders have been fooled into heading north." said the Lord as he drank. "Do we know why she took Tyrion?" inquired Bruce. Tywin shook his head. "When do we ride for the Riverlands?" Bruce asked as he sipped his wine. Lord Tywin placed his goblet on the table and moved to exit the tent. "Soon. Your uncle will ride tomorrow at dawn. We will go at dawn the next day." said the old lion as he held the flap of the tent open and motioned for his nephew to follow.

The two lions strode through the camp side by side. Soldiers parted the way for them, bowing as they passed. They made their way toward the tent set out so that the commanders could eat their meals. "Do you have captains in place for your men?" Tywin asked his grandson. "Yes, I have four; Drake Rykker Lord Renfred's second son,Robert Waters Lord Rosby's bastard, Kyle Caswell one of Ser Lorent's cousin's and a butcher, Crag." listed Bruce as they approached the pacillion where the commanders of Tywin's host gathered. "Are they worth the silver?" asked Tywin, regarding his grandson's men. Bruce smiled at his grandfather. "They'll do their part as good as any man." Tywin stopped and frowned at him. 'Butchers and bastards', he thought. "If you are going to surround yourself with cuthroats and harlots like you uncle, I may have to revaluate your command." warned Tywin. Bruce stopped and growled at his grandfather, "As I said; They'll do their part." He then strode into the pavillion and sat at the table in between Ser Daven Lannister and his uncle Jaime.

Tywin entered the pavillion after him and took his seat at the head of the table and the deep murmer of "My Lord." went rumbling through all the tent. Servants began to sweep the room, laying the table with large cuts of venison. Tywin turned to his brother, "Kevan, what numbers have we under us?" Ser Kevan faced his older brother, "Roughly 35,000, My Lord. All of Ser Jaime's men are ready. Most of our men are fully armoured, the smiths are still turning out fresh steel for them. We will be ready by tomorrow." The Lord of The Rock nodded and turned to Ser Addam Marbrand, "Send word to Ser Gregor. He is to lead Stark's men to Murmmer's Ford. We'll meet him there and crush Stark's riders." He then adressed his son, "You will take 15,000 men and move to the Golden Tooth. Cruch Tully's borderguards and move up to take Riverrun." Jaime nodded as a cut of meat was placed on his place. "Where will you take the rest of the army after Stark's riders are dealt with?" the kingsguard asked his father. Tywin speared a piece of venison on his plate with his fork and cut into it. "I'll take the holdfast of every lord on the Trident and hold your flank from attack to the East." This would be a quick war, and Tywin would show the world how the lion can still roar.


	20. Tyrion II

**Tyrion**

Chella daughter of Cheyk of the Black Ears had gone ahead to scout, and it was she who brought back word of the army at the crossroads. "By their fires I call them twenty thousand strong," she said. "Their banners are red, with a golden lion." "Your father?" Bronn asked. "Or my brother Jaime," Tyrion said. "We shall know soon enough." He surveyed his ragged band of brigands: near three hundred Stone Crows, Moon Brothers, Black Ears, and Burned Men, and those just the seed of the army he hoped to grow. Gunthor son of Gurn was raising the other clans even now. He wondered what his lord father would make of them in their skins and bits of stolen steel."

"It might be best if I rode down alone," he suggested. "Best for Tyrion son of Tywin. Not for Shagga." said the Stone Crow's chief "If halfman does not give us steel soon Shagga will chop off his manhood-" "-and feed it to the goats, yes," Tyrion said wearily. He bristled uneasily, "Alright then. Time to, meet my father." He kicked off on his horse, Bron following and the tribesmen trailing behind.

Lord Tywin's camp spread over leagues. Chella's estimate of twenty thousand men could not be far wrong. The common men camped out in the open, but the knights had thrown up tents, and some of the high lords had erected pavilions as large as houses. Tyrion spied the red ox of the Presters, Lord Crakehall's brindled boar, the burning tree of Marbrand, the badger of Lydden. Knights called out to him as he cantered past, and men-at-arms gaped at the clansmen in open astonishment. Shagga was gaping back; beyond a certainty, he had never seen so many men, horses, and weapons in all his days. Tyrion smiled at that, the more impressed they were with the power of the Lannisters, the easier they would be to command.

A pair of house guards in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms stood outside a large pavillion, on either side of the seeled flap. Tyrion recognized their captain. "My father?" The guard nodded and opened the tent for him. "My men will want meat and mead," Tyrion told him. "See that they get it." He entered the tent, with Bron and there was his Father.

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, was in his middle fifties, yet hard as a man of twenty. Even seated, he was tall, with long legs, broad shoulders, and flat stomach. Ser Kevan Lannister, his father's only surviving brother, was sharing a flagon of ale with Lord Tywin when Tyrion entered the common room. His uncle was portly and balding, with a close-cropped yellow beard that followed the line of his massive jaw. Ser Kevan saw him first. "Tyrion," he said in surprise. Lord Tywin did not stir from his chair, but he did give his dwarf son a long look, "I see that the rumors of your demise were unfounded." "Sorry to disappoint you, Father," Tyrion said, as he sat at the table with his Lord.

He reached across for the flagon of ale but Tywin beat him to it pulling it out of Tryion's arm length. "Kind of you to go to war for me." he said. Tywin's eyes narrowed at his youngest, "You gave us no choice. Your brother Jaime would never have meekly submitted to capture at the hands of a woman." Tyrion smiled as he spoke, "We have our difference, Jaime and I. He is taller and braver. I am smarter and better looking." Kevan smiled and hid his face so his brother would not see. His father ignored the jape. "The honor of our House was at stake. I had no choice but to ride. No man sheds Lannister blood with impunity."

"Speaking of which. How is your war going?" asked Tyion. His uncle answered. "Well enough. Ser Edmure had scattered small troops of men along his borders to stop our raiding, and your lord father and I were able to destroy most of them piecemeal before they could regroup." "Your brother has been covering himself with glory," his father said. "He smashed the Lords Vance and Piper at the Golden Tooth, and met the power of the Tullys under the walls of Riverrun. The lords of the Trident have been put to rout. Edmure Tully taken captive, with many of his knights and bannermen. Lord Blackwood led a few survivors back to Riverrun, where Jaime has them under siege. The rest fled to their own strongholds."

"Your father and I have been marching on each in turn," Ser Kevan said. "With Lord Blackwood gone, Raventree fell at once, and Lady Whent yielded Harrenhal for want of men to defend it. Ser Gregor burnt out the Pipers and the Brackens. The Mallisters still hold Seagard and Walder Frey is marshaling his levies at the Twins." Tywin smirked. "No matter," he said. "Frey only takes the field when the scent of victory is in the air, and all he smells now is ruin. And Jason Mallister lacks the strength to fight alone. Once Jaime takes Riverrun, they will both be quick enough to bend the knee. Unless the Starks and the Arryns come forth to oppose us, this war is good as won."

Tyrion smiled and shook his head. "I would not fret overmuch about the Arryns if I were you," Tyrion said. "The Starks are another matter. Lord Eddard-" "-is our hostage," his father said. "He will lead no armies from a black cell." "His son has called the banners and sits at Moat Cailin with a strong host around him." Kevan warned. Tywin let out a tsk sound. "A green boy." He declared, "No doubt he likes the sound of warhorns well enough, and the sight of his banners fluttering in the wind, but in the end it comes down to butcher's work. He'll run back to Winterfel with his tail between his legs."

Tyrion shrugged. "And how did my sister convince the king to imprison his dear friend Ned?" he inquired. Robert Baratheon is dead," his father told him. "Joffery reigns in King's Landing." That did take Tyrion aback. "My sister, you mean." Tyrion's father seemed indifferent to that fact. "And how has Bruce taken this?" asked Tyrion, if Joffery was on the Iron Throne and Bruce in King's Landing, with no one to guard his temper, no good coud come from it. "Badly," spoke Kevan, "He wants us to ride for the capital and put Joffery in his place. He seems to think the boy will do something rash now that he is king." The ends of Tyrion's mouth lifted, "That is not entirly impossible." Then he frowned, "How do you know this?" Tyrion asked his uncle. "He rides with us," answered the Lord of The Rock answered, "He arrived with Jaime. Twelve hundered men in tow. I am having him lead our advance party." Tyrion smiled, of couse his nephew would come.

"Speaking of men in tow. I shall require three thousand helms and as many hauberks, plus swords, pikes, steel spearheads, maces, battleaxes, gauntlets, gorgets, greaves, breastplates, wagons to carry all this-" Ser Kevan leapt up swearing as the captain of the guard went flying across the room to smash against the table in the center, scattering letters and paper across the floor. As he tumbled down to the floor, Shagga snapped the man's sword in two over a knee, threw down the pieces, and lumbered into the tent. "Little redcape," he snarled, "when next you bare steel on Shagga son of Dolf, I will chop off your manhood and roast it in the fire." The other clansmen followed Shagga into the common room, Bronn with them. The sellsword gave Tyrion a rueful shrug. "Who might you be?" Lord Tywin asked, cool as ice. "They followed me home, Father," Tyrion explained. "May I keep them? They don't eat much."

Ser Kevan's hand went to his sword hilt, but his brother placed two fingers on his wrist and held him fast. Lord Tywin seemed unperturbed. "Tyrion, have you forgotten your courtesies? Kindly acquaint us with our . . . honored guests." Tyrion licked his fingers. "With pleasure," he said. "The fair maid is Chella daughter of Cheyk of the Black Ears." Tyrion waddled away from her. "This is Shagga son of Dolf chieftain of the Stone Crows. Here is Ulf son of Umar of the Moon Brothers, and here Timett son of Timett, a red hand of the Burned Men. And this is Bronn." To Bronn and the clansmen he said, "May I present my lord father, Tywin son of Tytos of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport, and once and future Hand of the King."

Lord Tywin rose, dignified and correct. "Even in the west, we know the prowess of the warrior clans of the Mountains of the Moon. What brings you down from your strongholds, my lords?" Tyrion was about to tell his lord father how he proposed to reduce the Vale of Arryn to a smoking wasteland, but he was never given the chance. In walked a mesenger. The messenger gave Tyrion's clansmen a quick, queer look as he dropped to one knee before Lord Tywin. "My lord," he said, "Prince Bruce bid me tell you that the Stark host is moving down the causeway." Tywin never smiled, but Tyrion had learned to read his father's pleasure all the same, and it was there on his face. "So the wolfling is leaving his den to play among the lions," he said in a voice of quiet satisfaction. "Splendid. Return to my grandson and tell him to fall back. He is not to engage the northerners until we arrive, but I want him to harass their flanks and draw them farther south."

"It will be as you command." The rider took his leave. Tywin turned to his brother, "Tell the drummers to beat assembly, and send word to Jaime that I am marching against Robb Stark." "As you will," Ser Kevan said. Tyrion watched with a fascination as his lord father turned next to the half-wild clansmen. "It is said that the men of the mountain clans are warriors without fear. Ride with me against my enemies, and you shall have all my son promised you, and more." Lord Tywin told them. "We will ride with you, lion lord," Chella daughter of Cheyk agreed, "but only if your halfman son goes with us. He has bought his breath with promises. Until we hold the steel he has pledged us, his life is ours." Lord Tywin turned his gold-flecked eyes on his son. "Joy," Tyrion said with a resigned smile.


	21. Bruce VI

**Silver crow: ** I agree with you when it comes to your second request, I too find Arya/Gendry a bit over done, which is why there route will continue as cannon for now. As a matter of the first request I'm afraid I cannot comply entirely. See the next chapter for more.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Bruce<span>**

The lords of the Westerlands had gathered that night. Lord Tywin would dine with them a final time before his battle with Robb Stark. The pavillion had been erected on a hill overlooking the kingsroad, the Lannister standered waving from a large pike. Bruce found his appetite not as large as many of the other lords. This drew the attention of his grandfather, whom sat on his left at the head of the table. "Are you ill?" he asked his grandson, "You aren't eating." Bruce gave his head a gentle shake, "I am fine. Just not hungry." but Lord Tywin could see through him, as tight as his grandson's guard was. Ser Kevan adressed the prince opposite him, "You feel as though there is a lead plate in your stomach weighing you down." Bruce looked to him curiously, "How-" he began but his grandfather cut him off. "And that your being stretched thin, like butter over to much bread." The young lion looked to the old Lord, frowning with his brow raised. Tywin answered the unspoken question, "It's the same feeling all men get on the eve of battle. Even if you have killed a man this is something different entirely."

Bruce looked his grandfather up and down. He doubted Tywin Lannister was capable of compassion, but this could be the closest he would ever show of any. At that moment the cooks began serving the meat course: five suckling pigs, skin seared and crackling. When one of the servants took one of the cuts and tried to placed it on his place he shooed the man away. Tywin swallowed his mouthful of pork. "You'll be no good to anyone if you starve. Eat." he ordered his grandson. Bruce shook his head again. "I'm fine with just drinking." He told the Lord, as he took a sip of his wine.

Then Tyrion strode into the tent. "My pardons," he began, taking his place on the bench beside his uncle Kevan. Bruce made a note to thank his uncle for providing Lord Tywin a distraction from him."Perhaps I'd best charge you with burying our dead, Tyrion," Lord Tywin said. "If you are as late to battle as you are to table, the fighting will all be done by the time you arrive." "Oh, surely you can save me a peasant or two, Father," Tyrion replied smiling at Bruce. "Not too many, I wouldn't want to be greedy. I know of my nephew's new taste for blood" Bruce smiled back. Tyrion filled his wine cup and watched a serving man carve into the pig. The crisp skin crackled under his knife, and hot juice ran from the meat. "Your Nephew's outriders say the Stark host has moved south from the Twins," The Lord of Casterly Rock reported, "Lord Frey's levies have joined them. They are likely no more than a day's march north of us."

Ser Kevan leaned over his chair slightly to speak to his nephew, "I hope your savages will be of some use. It seems like alot of steel to waste on such rable." Tyrion speared a slice of the suckling pig on his knife, and brought it to his mouth. "My savages will put your steel to excellent use, my lord," Tyrion replied, sinking his teeth into the meat. Lord Lefford, the master of the armies supplies, frowned. "I saw that great hairy one today, the one who insisted that he must have two battle-axes, the heavy black steel ones with twin crescent blades." "Shagga likes axes." said Tyrion. Lord Lefford did not seem convinced this a good enough excuse, "He still had that wood-axe of his strapped to his back." Bruce intervened on his uncle's behalf, "Three axes are better than two. Wouldn't you agree Lord Lefford?" Bruce and his uncle shared a grin and a gentle rumble of laughter rounded the table.

"We had a thought to put you and your wildlings in the vanguard when we come to battle." said Lord Tywin to his son. "The vanguard?" Tyrion repeated. "They seem ferocious enough," Ser Kevan said. "Ferocious?" echoed Tyrion now starring at his father. "Let me tell you how ferocious they are. Last night, a Moon Brother stabbed a Stone Crow over a sausage. So today as we made camp three Stone Crows seized the man and opened his throat for him. Bronn managed to keep Shagga from chopping off the dead man's cock, which was fortunate, but even so Ulf is demanding blood money, which Conn and Shagga refuse to pay." Lord Tywin set down his knife and rounded on his son. "When soldiers lack discipline, the fault lies with their commander," his father said "Look at your nephew. He brings twice the number of your men and with two floggings, a handful of coppers and the mention of his name, he has them drilled and loyal." Bruce was not sure whether that was meant as a compliment to him or an insult to his uncle. Though it was true the rable needed a firm hand to begin with, before their pay was due. Tyrion lacked that gift. He bought loyalty with gold, and compelled obedience with his name only. "A bigger man would be able to put the fear in them, is that what you're saying, my lord?" said Tyrion to his father. "There will be no more discussion on the matter." said Tywin firmly.

"I find I am not hungry after all," Tyrion said, climbing awkwardly off the chair. "Pray excuse me, my lords." Lord Tywin inclined his head, dismissing him. Tyrion turned and walked away. Bruce rose from his own chair. "There are better ways to kill him that would be more crutial war effort." he growled at his grandfather and followed his uncle, ignoring the outraged look his grandfather bore into the back of his head.

Dusk had settled, turning all the banners black. The Lannister camp sprawled for miles between the river and the kingsroad. Bruce quickly caught up to his uncle as he wadled through the maze of tents. "Come have a drink with me in my tent." Bruce told his uncle as they walked. Tyrion nodded beside his nephew. "I could do with getting good and drunk tonight." A giggling woman raced past him, naked beneath a dark cloak, her drunken pursuer stumbling over tree roots. The two stopped to see the woman disappear into the distance. "Although..." Tyrion added. Bruce laughed. "You'll never find a pretty one at this hour." He told the dwarf as they turned to continue, "Pity." was all the reply Tyrion gave as they walked.

Amongst all the campfires, flying roaring lion banners in the all army's campsites, Bruce's camp had the fewest. Only one outside of his tent, next to a crowned stag of his late father's house. Tyrion looked at the banner with some curiosity as he entered his nephew's tent. "How are you taking your father's death?" The imp asked as he sat upon a chair. Bruce took a large wine skin from his bed in the corner and hnded it to his uncle. "Well enough I suppose. I'm not entirely sure how I should feel." Tyrion took a large gulp of wine from the skin and handed it back to his nephew. "Why is that?" questioned Tyrion as his nephew chugged down the wine. Bruce took the skin away from his mouth and wiped it with the back of his hand, "I'm not sure," he told Tyrion, "I know I should feel sad, and do somewhat, but I can't help but not feel it at the same time. I scarcely knew the man after all" his uncle gave him shrug. "I certainly know how I feel about this coming battle." he laughed. Bruce flashed him grin. "So long as you keep _your_ blood lust under control, I think you'll be fine." said the younger handing his uncle back the wine skin. "I hope so nephew." said Tyrion as he gulped down more wine, "I hope so."


	22. The Battle of Green Fork

**Silver crow: ** Don't worry about apologizing, quirky requests and suggestions are welcome. And as to defeating Robb well... we'll see

**The Battle of Green Fork**

A warhorn sounded in the far distance, a deep mournful note that chilled the the dawn light, the army of Lord Tywin Lannister unfolded like an iron flower, thorns gleaming. Kevan would lead the center, his standards above the kingsroad. The foot archers placed themselves into three long lines, to east and west of the road, and stood calmly stringing their bows. Between them, pikemen formed squares, behind were rank on rank of men-at-arms with spear and sword and axe. Three hundred heavy horse surrounded Ser Kevan and the bannermen Lefford, Lydden, and Serrett with all their sworn retenue.

The right wing was all cavalry, some four thousand men, heavy with the weight of their armor. Ser Addam Marbrand had the command. His banner unfurled as his standardbearer shook it out; a burning tree. Behind him flew Ser Flement's purple unicorn, the boar of Crakehall, the rooster of Swyft, and more.

The van was massing on the left. The standard, three black dogs on a yellow field. Ser Gregor sat beneath it, mounted on his large warhorse. Lord Tywin saw his son and tribesmen marching to meet the Mountain. He was pointing men into position with his blade, a two-handed greatsword that Ser Gregor waved about with one hand as a lesser man would wave a dagger.

Lord Lannister took his place on the hill where he had slept. Around him, the reserve assembled; a huge force, half mounted and half foot, six thousand strong. Lord Tywin almost always chose to command the reserve; he would take the high ground and watch the battle unfold below him, committing his forces when and where they were needed most.

Tywin Lannister's battle armor put his son Jaime's gilded suit to shame. His greatcloak was sewn from layers of gold cloth, it barely stirred even when he charged and cover nearly all of his horse's rear. His armor was heavy steel plate, enameled in a dark crimson, greaves and gauntlets inlaid with ornate gold. His rondels were golden, the red steel was burnished to such a high sheen that it shone like fire in the light of the rising sun.

The Lord of the Rock survayed his foe across the field on their small hill, dwarfed by the on which Lord Tywin sat on. All foot, no horse in sight. He glimpsed the moose of the Hornwoods, the Karstark sunburst, Lord Cerwyn's battle-axe, and the mailed fist of the Glovers and the twin towers of Frey, blue on grey. Finally, the flayed man of Bolton in the center. The white of House Stark was seen everywhere. 'Where is the boy?' Tywin wondered.

At that moment the Lord's grandson approached shining in his silver plate atop his brown stallion. The sun reflecting off the stag covering his chest. His roaring lion cloak had gone, another lion in it's place. The beast had a simple set of antlers protuding from the sides. 'The Lion with Antlers,' sniffed Lord Tywin. Even from Casterly Rock he had heard of the name Robert Baratheon had given his second son. At least he was living up to his alias.

"Your left will never hold," the prince warned his grandfather. "Good," replied the Lord, "As soon as they break and Stark gets a wiff of victory, he'll plunge his whole army in our flank." Daven Lannister rode up the hill toward his cousin. "The reserve is fully assembled, My Lord. And Ser Gregor has his vanguard in position." Tywin nodded. "Tell Clegane he is to make his advance." said the Lord and dismissed him.

Northern warhorn bellowed their call and Lannister trumpets answered in defiance. Ser Gregor's left charged. A large, swarming mass of undisciplined freeriders and sellswords, fieldhands armed with scythes and their father's rusted swords, half-trained boys from the gutters of Lannisport. Tyrion and his mountain clansmen hugged close to the river. At it's head the Mountain himself. No pikes, too few bowmen, a bare handful of knights, the ill-armed and unarmored, commanded by an unthinking brute who led with his rage. Yes. That would draw the boy to his trap in no time.

A large wall of iron wood shields and barbed spears faced them. The few Stark archers fired at the mod as they approached, but it did nothing to stop them. Clegane and his few mounted knights reached the shield wall, but many were halted. Half the horses shied at the last second, breaking their charge before the row of spears. The others died, sharp steel points ripping through their chests. The Mountain's stallion reared, lashing out with it's hooves. Maddened, Clegane forced the beast to lunge into the ranks. Stark's men tried to hold their shields in place but could not, the wall breaking under Clegane's incredible weight. By now the remainder of the rable arrived and smashed into the wall as well. The wall began to crumble. Tywin's plan hadn't gone the way he planned but it would do.

Tywin siezed his chance for victory. He barked out to his grandson, "Take your men and back up Clegane's left." The prince nodded and charged off, rallying his men behind him. 200 mounted men followed their master and another thousand on foot behind them. In the center, Ser Kevan had already taken advantage of the crumbling flank. His archers had moved up to fire on Stark's center and the square of pikes advanced on it in a long line, iron tips thrust forward. At the same time Kevan's men-at-arms moved up to Clegane's slowing mob, as they pushed furthe through the Stark infantry.

The Warden of the West called for a rider. The man approached up the hill in his lion helm and red cloak. "Ride for Ser Marbrand. Have him ride his men up the right and keep Stark pinned against the hill." He nodded and cantered off in a full charge. That would stop Stark hemming in Kevan's defenceless right.

Bruce and his cavalry had reached Clegane's halted vanguard. They breathed new life into the offensive, and forced their way through the remainder of Stark's troops. The Northmen on the left began to route from the field. Clegane and the rable persude, but Bruce began to form up his disiplined reseve of foot. His cavalry lowered their lances and spears and made for the Stark center's rear. Kevan's pike began to trade blows with the shield wall, who still held firm. The flayed man of Bolton towering above them, reminding them of their fate should they run. Kevan's men-at-arms lined up along side Bruce's and charged in to the Bolton's unguarded right. Ser Marbrand's knight smashed through the Stark flank pulling their line up from under them. Finally the Stark's in the center began to break. Lost under the pressure of pikes, sword and horse. Clegane and the prince's freeriders swept them from the field as they ran. The lion had clawed victory from the wolf.

Lord Tywin advanced remainder of his reserve up the field. The Lord himself set up his camp on the riverside. One by one his Lords trickled in one by one. Some covered in blood, others still shinning like they were at the start of battle. "A fine victory," Ser Kevan said when he saw Tyrion, his armour smeered with blood and bits of gray matter caught in his hair. "Your wild men fought well." Tyrion's father's eyes were on him. "Did that surprise you, Father?" he asked. "Did it upset your plans? We were supposed to be butchered, were we not?"

Lord Tywin drained his cup of wine, his face expressionless. "I put the least disciplined men on the left, yes. I anticipated that they would break. Robb Stark is a green boy, more like to be brave than wise. I'd hoped that if he saw our left collapse, he might plunge into the gap, eager for a rout. Once he was fully committed, Ser Kevan's pikes would wheel and take him in the flank, driving him into the river while I brought up the reserve."

"A pity my savages ruined your dance." Tyrion pulled off his steel gauntlet and let it fall to the ground, wincing at the pain that stabbed up his arm. "The Stark boy proved more cautious than I expected," Lord Tywin admitted, "but a victory is a victory. You appear to be wounded." Tyrion's right arm was soaked with blood. "Good of you to notice, Father," he said through clenched teeth.

Now Bruce strode in his sword still bared and bloodied. His armour was showered in blood from helm to greaves. "Robb Stark wasn't commanding." he declared. All the lords rose from their seats. "How do you know this?" Ser Kevan asked the blood stained prince. "We captured Roose Bolton." repirted Bruce, sheathing his blade. "He says Robb has taken his horse and made for Riverrun." A murmer of discontent went through the pavillion. 'A green boy.' Tyrion recalled. He would have laughed if his wound wasn't so painful.


	23. Tyrion III

**flevantein****:** Yeah, I'm trying to shake things up a bit early on.

**Silver crow:** You put a lot of thought into thinking what might happen to Roose Bolton, didn't you

**Tyrion**

"They have my son," Tywin Lannister said. One of your sons, Tyrion thought. He took a sip of wine and said not a word. When he lifted his arm, pain shot through his elbow, reminding him of his own brief taste of battle. He loved his brother, but he would not have wanted to be with him in the Whispering Wood.

His lord father's assembled captains and bannermen had fallen very quiet as their Lord read out the report from Riverrun. After Lord Tywin's two days of relentless marching a messenger had arrived from Riverrun. Robb Stark had beaten them to Jaime. While they were still burying the dead from the battle with Stark's infantry, led by Roose Bolton, Jaime had been caught out at the Whispering Wood by the boy and his cavalry.

"How could this happen?" Ser Harys Swyft moaned. "How? Even after the Whispering Wood, you had Riverrun ringed in iron, surrounded by a great host . . . what madness made Ser Jaime decide to split his men into three separate camps? Surely he knew how vulnerable that would leave them?" "I would have done the same," Ser Kevan responded, a good deal more calmly than Tyrion might have. "You have never seen Riverrun, Ser Harys, or you would know that Jaime had little choice in the matter. Had he not he would have been trapped between the rivers and the walls."

Tywin remained entirly silent. Lord Tywin was oft quiet in council, preferring to listen before he spoke, a habit Tyrion himself tried to emulate. Yet this silence was uncharacteristic even for him, and his wine was untouched. Lord Tywin wove his fingers together under his chin. Only his eyes moved as he listened. His bristling golden side-whiskers framed the still face, but Tyrion could see tiny beads of sweat dappling his father's shaven head. "How could it happen?" Ser Harys Swyft wailed again. "Ser Jaime taken captive, the siege broken and army scattered... this is a catastrophe!" Prince Bruce spoke from beside his uncle, "I am sure we are all grateful to you for pointing out the obvious, Ser Harys. The question is, what shall we do about it?" Swyft writhed in his chair. "What can we do? Jaime's host is all slaughtered or taken." Lord Lefford now chipped in, "Stark and the Tullys sit squarely across our line of supply. We are cut off from the west!" Ser Marbrand rose, "They can march on Casterly Rock if they so choose, and what's to stop them?" Ser Hrys finished what they were all pointing toward, "My lords, we are beaten. We must sue for peace."

Tyrion took a deep drink of his wine and hurled his empty cup to the floor, shattering it into a thousand pieces. "There's your peace. Joffery saw to that when he made an ornemant of Ned Stark's head. You'll have an easier time drinking wine from that cup than you will convincing Robb Stark to make peace now. He's winning... hadn't you noticed?"

"Two battles do not make a war," Bruce insisted of his uncle. "We are far from lost. I've fought with Robb before. I know I can beat him." Ser Harys snickered, "One taste of battle and the boy thinks he's Aegon the Conqueror." he said nudging Lord Lefford with his elbow. Bruce's face went red and he rounded on Swyft, "And what would you do, Ser. Start trading for ransoms? We can't afford to look weak." Tyrion added his own voice to his nephew's argument with the upstart, "And what are we to offer for my brother? Lord Eddard's rotting head? Not Roose Bolton I hope? Bolton has always caused trouble for Winterfell. They should be glad to be rid of him!" "I had heard that Queen Cersei has the Hand's daughters," Lefford said hopefully. "If we give the lad his sisters back..." Ser Addam snorted disdainfully. "He would have to be an utter fool to trade Jaime Lannister's life for two girls." said Devan Lannister "Then we must ransom Ser Jaime, whatever it costs," Lord Lefford said.

Lord Tywin Lannister rose to his feet. "They have my son," he said once more, in a voice that cut like a sword through bread. "Leave me. All of you." Tyrion rose to depart with the rest, but his father gave him a look. "Not you, Tyrion." Bruce and Kevan gave him a sparring look as they departed, leaving the father and son alone. Tyrion eased himself into a chair beside his father. "You are right about Ned Stark. Alive, we might have used Lord Eddard to forge a peace with Winterfell and Riverrun, a peace that would have given us the time we need to deal with Robert's brothers. Dead..." His hand curled into a fist. "Madness."

"What of Stannis?" asked Tyrion. "He had laid claim to Storm's End, but not the Crown. His ships sail from Dragonstone and harries the Storm Lords that defy his claim." said the Lord. Tyrion's brow raised. "And what of Renly?" Tywin answered his son's question, "Renly Baratheon wed Margaery Tyrell at Highgarden yesterday and now he has the crown. The bride's father and brothers have bent the knee and sworclaimed n him their swords." Tyrion snickered, "I doubt Bruce will take to that very kindly." Lord Tywim sat back in his chair, an eyebrow raised. "What do you mean by that?" asked the old lion. Tyrion sat back in his own chair. "Apparently, he grew quite found of her when Renly briught him to Highgarden. And she of him." Tywin scowled at his dwarf son's jape, "Bruce's only a boy," Tyrion pointed out. "At his age, I committed a few follies of my own." His father gave him a sharp look. "I suppose we ought to be grateful that he has not yet married a whore." Tyrion sipped at his wine, wondering how Lord Tywin would look if he flung the cup in his face.

"Cersei commands us to ride for King's Landing at once, to defend the Red Keep against King Renly and the Knight of Flowers." Tywin's mouth tightened. "Commands us, mind you. In the name of the king and council." "How is King Joffrey taking the news?" Tyrion asked with a certain black amusement. "Cersei has not seen fit to tell him yet," Lord Tywin said. "She fears he might insist on marching against Renly himself." "With what army?" Tyrion asked. "You don't plan to give him this one, I hope?" "He talks of leading the City Watch," Lord Tywin said. "If he takes the Watch, he'll leave the city undefended," Tyrion said. "And with Lord Stannis on Dragonstone..."

"Yes." Lord Tywin looked down at his son. "I always thought you a stunted fool." Tyrion smiled, "Half right. I'm new to this, but I know we can't stay here." Tywin rose, "Noone will stay here. Clegane will set the Riverlands on fire from the tips of the Trident to God's Eye. The rest of us will regroup at Harrenhall." Lord Tywin took a drink from his goblet, "You will go to the city."

"The city?" Tyrion was lost. "What city would that be?" "King's Landing. I am sending you to court." It was the last thing Tyrion would ever have anticipated. He reached for his wine, and considered for a moment as he sipped. "And what am I to do there?" "Rule," his father said curtly "You will serve as Hand of the King in my stead." Tyrion was thunderstruck. "My sister will not like that." Tywin gave his son a shrug, "Let her say what she likes. Her son needs to be taken in hand before he ruins us all." He pointed a finger at Tyrion's face. "If Cersei cannot curb the boy, you must. And if these councillors are playing us..." Tyrion knew. "Spikes," he sighed. "Heads. Walls." Tywin's eyes narrowed. "I see you have taken a few lessons from me."

"Why me?" asked Tyrion, cocking his head to one side. "Why not my uncle? Why not Ser Addam or even my nephew? Why not a bigger man?" Lord Tywin rose abruptly. "You are my son." Tyrion narrowed his eyes at his father. "And what of Bruce? What use will you make of him?" The old lion's jaw clenched, "He was right about Joffery, proven himself as a decent commander and would be good weapon for you to use against either Cersei or Joffery, if you don't want to dirty your hands. I'm making him master-at-arms. He'll take charge of King's Landing's defences and help you bring everyone in line." Tyrion had not expected that. "You think he is ready for such responsiblity." he asked his father. "Only if you can keep a leash on him." he clarified, "It should be easy for you to do. The boy seems to have a natural loyalty to you. Use it well." Tyrion didn't like the idea of using his favourite nephew as a pawn in the game, but what choice did he have.

Lord Tywin crossed the room. "One last thing," he said at the door. "You will not take the whore to court." Tyrion sat alone in the pavillion for a long while after his father was gone. Finally, he left also and walked through the camp. Banners fluttered in the breeze and men began the lumbersome process of packing away tents for the march to Harrenhall. He arrived at his own tent in good time. Inside he saw Bruce, Bronn and Shae all sat around laughing sharing Tyrion's wine. They all looked to him as he walked into the tent and Bronn handed him a cup and filled it. Bruce looked to his uncle. "Well?" he asked Tyrion, his voice sharpened with concern. Tyrion flashed him a grin. "We're going to King's Landing." and he laughed at the look his nephew gave him.


	24. Bruce VII

**Master of Dragons God:** Thanks

**jamnaz79**: I am trying for longer chapters. I just so happen to be unbelievably lazy. As for Stannis well that would be telling.

**Silver crow:** Renly ain't a fool. Despite his preference the only way he is going to secure the marriage is by consummating it. Whether he ends up doing it or not is another matter. As for Bruce's feelings, well he doesn't share well with other's

**Bruce**

Bruce and his uncle's camp was much smaller than his grandfather's had been. Only housing roughly a thousand men and no horses, it stretched across the kingsroad and a couple of hundered yards down it. The quick march had been a gruling trudge from out of the Riverlands and into the Crownlands. Tyrion had his tribesmen, two hundered strong, scouting the woods around them and foraging for food. The tribesmen were difficult to cope with marching with Bruce's men, but when one of chieftains had been put in place by Bruce's chief captain, a butcher called Crag who wielded a giant meat cleaver, they were quick to fall in line. 'Do not spare them the rod. Better make them fear you than love you.' Bruce told his captains when they were training his men in the Westerlands. It was old advice, words Lord Tywin had told him when Bruce was still just a squire.

Bruce was lying on his bed in his tent at the center of their camp. He starred up at the cloth ceiling as it swayed in the night breeze, sleep avoiding him. Outside a fire gently cracked and hush tones were being spoken around it. Bruce didn't care for what was being said as he couldn't make any of it out. His thoughts varied wildly. He had started out thinking what would the situation be like in King's Landing, Lord Eddard's head bring taken from him on the steps of the Baelor and his father's final moments. They said he had been killed by a boar, Bruce hoped it was a quick death. Then he moved on to his mother. Had she gone mad crowning Joffery king, he was reckless and arrogant enough as a prince but at least he could be put down a notch. Now, there would be no stopping him.

Then his mind drifted to Arya. Lord Tywin had said both Stark girls were hostages. Had his plan to smuggle her back to The North failed. Had she been caught by Joffery. His heart tightened at that and he cursed himself for it. He had no great love of Arya, but he had become fond of her in their short time together. He then thought to the city he would have to defend. He would have his handsfull certainly. The smallfolk bore no little love for the Lannisters and now they were running things it was doubtful this love would flower. The after thought of that would be who he would have to protect those people from. Tyrion had told him only his uncle Renly had struck his banner's. Bruce's jaw clenched at the thought of Renly. It had come little surprise that Highgarden had flocked to Renly.

As a fosterling under Renly, Bruce saw how close Renly was to the Tyrells, even he had fell under their spell. He knew fine well that the Lord of the Reach had ambitions to see his daugter as queen. It even struck him as odd when Margaery had laid with him, after all he was heir to Casterly Rock not the Iron Throne. "It's because of your good looks and heroic charm, nephew." Renly had told him. So that was all Bruce put it down to and kept his feelings to Margaery simple. Although he still could not help the tightening of his heart again. Renly was no fool after all, despite his ways, even he knew no marriage was complete till it was consumated.

He then shifted to his father's other brother. Stannis had only claimed the Stormlands. If either of the Baratheon brother's should have claimed the crown it should have been Stannis, the elder. Was he biding his time for it. Letting the other claiments bleed each other dry before he pounced. That unsettled Bruce. He probably could hold Renly and maybe the Tyrell and Stark hosts at a stretch, if Lord Lannister sent help. But Stannis? If anyone would take King's Landing it was him. By land or sea, it made no difference.

Bored with the ceiling, Bruce rose from his bed. Grabbing his sword he stepped out into the night. Outside of his tent, by the fire, sat three of Bruce's captain's and Tyrion's sellsword, Bronn. They rose and looked to him. "M'lord." said Kyle Caswell, one of the Lord of Bitterbridge's cousins. He had pale red hair and an even paler, thin face. Kyle had been one of the few Reachmen to serve under King Robert in the Greyjoy revolt. Bruce nodded to them and they retook their seats around the fire. "Where is my uncle?" he asked Bronn. "He is with his lady." the sellsword answered, "He should be here soon. He wanted to speak to you." Bruce thanked him and joined them, trying to warm himself against their fire.

"Here, M'lord." said Robert Waters, handing Bruce a wineskin. "A spiced Dornish. Good for keeping the cold away." Bruce took it and drank heavily. Robert was the youngest of Bruce's captains. Born during the begining of the rebellion that ended Targaryen rule, Robert had been named as a cruel joke to King Aerys and insult to the then Lord Robert by the Lord Rosby. He stood just shorter than Bruce and had never fought in a war but he had brought one hundred men on horseback and was the one to wield the whip during the two floggings Bruce had ordered to discipline his men when they were still a mob like Tyrion's tribesmen.

Bruce handed the wineskin back to Robert. "Where's the Butcher?" he asked him. Drake Ryyker answered from beside Bronn, "Crag's gone fer some more meat from them mountain men." he rasped, scatching his chin through the grey flecked beard he kept. Ryyker was the second son of the old Lord of Duskendale. Bruce nodded at him Ryyker was the oldest at well over fifty. He had fought dozens of battles, from the War of Ninepenny Kings to Balon Greyjoy's Rebellion.

The five sat in silence passing round wineskins and bits of meat from off the fire. Bruce enjoyed these past few mounths on the roads, marching from battle to battle. He trusted these men with his life and there's with him despite his youth. He had proven himself while they sieged the holdfasts of the Trident Lords and again on the Green Fork. He liked this life, it made him feel more at home than he had ever felt before.

At that moment Tyrion wadled out of the darkness to the group. "Ah! There you are." said Tyrion "I was hoping to speak with you." Bruce rose from the fire and swallowed his mouth full of pheasant. "What about?" he asked his uncle. Tyrion walked past his nephew, to his tent. "In private." he said holding the flap of Bruce's tent open. Bruce knew better than to question his uncle and strode into his tent. Tyrion followed behind him and sat on the bed.

"Bronn tells me we are but a days ride from King's Landing." Bruce told his uncle. His uncle nodded solemly. "He has told me such as well." Tyrion replied, "It'll be Joffery's name-day celebration. Should make quite the spectecal." Tyrion folded his hans in his lap. His nephew grunted in agreement, viewing his uncle suspiciously. "I know you don't want to go and that your feeling as though your not up to it," Tyrion said, "But I have to know you're up to it because... I need you." Bruce raised his eyebrow. "I can do this." he said firmly "I will defend the city. Renly will not-" "That's not what I meant." His uncle intrupted, raising his hand. "It will be more than defending the city. You will be my ally in court. On the council. Against Joffery and even your mother."

Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat and starred bleakly at the floor as he thought. The court? Simple enough in truth. He was brother to the king, the favourite prince and current heir to the throne. The nobles would beg and lap at his feet if he asked them to. They would be no problem.

The council? That would be where Tyrion would need him first. Spiders and worms the lot of them, this was no secret, even to Bruce. Pycelle, the ever incumbant Grand Maester. He would serve the relm to your face and whoever the wind blew with the behind your back. Bruce knew this, only when his father had commanded him to had Pycelle treated his wounds from the tourney. Lord Baelish, the master of coin. Always gambling with Crown funds as well as his own. He had seen and heard of his and Lord Stark's ventures into the city. It troubled Bruce that somone seemingly so close to Eddard, who prided loyalty and honour above all else, had gone unscathed in his downfall. Perhaps it had been Littlefinger who had orchestrated the Lord of Winterfell's demise? Then the new Lord Slynt. Bloody thug. His corrption of the gold cloaks had been poisoning the city slowly for years and now he had Harrenhall. No, he would have to go for sure, the city watch would do far better under someone else, but that would have to be his uncle's problem. Finally Varys, the Spider. Bruce couldn't be sure what to make of him. He had shown great intrest and admiration, if not distain also for Bruce's rash actions. Yet, the eunuch had still sent the messages he had requested, and with so many that had answered it was asured he had sent the ravens. Who was to say which side Varys was on?

Joffery? That made him smile. His brother would need some sense drilled into him. Bruce was far more stuborn than his brother and if he could be tamed why couldn't Joffery. Bruce only wondered how to get the message across. His brother would no doubt try to wrestle him for control of marshalling the cities' defence, some good military disapline might do the trick. Although if Joffery could order Illyn Payne to execute Ned Stark what was to keep Tyrion safe. A new executioner would be needed for certain.

His mother? She would have her allies on the council and at court. Bruce would lend his support to his uncle there. But Cersei was not one to take her son and her brother on the council lightly. That was one battle Tyrion would have to fight by himself, Bruce would have enough to contend with as was.

"Can I count on you?" Tyrion asked, shaking his nephew out of his thoughts. Bruce smiled at his uncle. "Do you even have to ask?" he replied, winking at the imp. Tyrion winked back and smiled also. "I doubt your mother will take very kindly to us." he said a matter of factly. Bruce nodded laughing, "She'll be a problem true enough. It's the others I'm worried about." Tyrion nodded, his face turning more somber. "Mother will have someone on the council. We'll have flush them out." his nephew said. "She will be keeping Tommen and Myrcella close. Plotting with the council to threaten to put an end to that should push them both Cersei and her rat right into our hands." Tyrion told him. "Lord Slynt will have to go. If I'm to defend the city I'll need a loyal man in charge of the Watch." Bruce affirmed. "I had given that some thought. If you can get Slynt out of office, I'm sure Bronn would take his place if you ask him nicely." voiced Tyrion curling his arms across cahest smiling in prolonged thought.

"What of Joff? Another catastrophe like the one with Stark will ruin us before we've started." spoke the prince's uncle. "Then he cut out the middleman. I'm sure Ser Illyn would be of better use decapitating Northmen in the Riverlands, rather than the capital." answered Bruce. Tyrion smiled in pride, "I hadn't thought of that." Bruce smiled back, "What of the council?" Tyrion shrugged. "Including Slynt there's four. Shall we half the work." "Done," came the price's reply, "What of my brother? Taking away Payne will do little with his dog around." Tyrion shrugged. "We should cross that bridge when we get there."

The dwarf hoped off the bed. "You know this could go wrong for all of us. Even if he tame the Red Keep." He reminded the younger. Bruce gave a shrug and a grin. "You let me worry about that." he reported.

"Get some sleep." Tyrion ordered his nephew. "Yes my lord Hand." mocked Bruce. Tyrion lauged and left the tent. Bruce stripped down to his basics, flopped onto his bed and pulled the thin sheet over himself. Bruce smiled at the thought of going to King's Landing now. He found it helped lull him to sleep.


	25. Tyrion IV

**DannyM****cDingles****: ** Thank you for pointing out the error. It has now been corrected.

**Master of Dragons God:** Thanks

* * *

><p><strong><span>Tyrion<span>**

King's Landing was much how Tyrion imagined it would be. Many of the people looked half-starved and covered head to foot in boils, warts and scabs. He knew it would only get worse. Before long the roads would close and all traffic on them stop. No more traffic meant no more food. That would become a very large problem very fast.

Tyrion rode on his horse at the head of the marching collum, beside his nephew. Both were equiped in their armour and their men looking feirce and battle hardened. On foot, the men were led by Bronn and Bruce's captain, Drake Ryyker. The men that marched behind Tyrion only numbered one hundred of the near one thousand that had been brought down the Kingsroad, the reminder was waiting outside the capital's walls, until room in the city could be found for them. The people in the streets parted for them as they crossed the city toward the Red Keep. Be it for the scarred faces of the Vale tribesmen or the red cloaks and heavy steel being wielded by Bruce's company, the peasants gawked at them in lewd facination or averted their gaze and tried to continue their buisness as usual.

The guards of the Red Keep halted them as they approached. One guard strode toward them, his hand on his sword. "No one is to enter during the keep on the king's name day." he told Tyrion and his nephew. Tyrion straightened in his saddle, as he spoke to the guard. "Ser, I am the king's uncle. His brother and I are here to pay tribute to his Grace for his crowning and name day." The guard would not be budged. "No one may enter." he repeated. Bruce now stired, "Who has commanded this?" The guard thought for a moment under his helm. "The Queen Regent." said the man firmly, as though it somehow that made the conversation already over. Tyrion glared down at the man from atop his horse. "And what do you imagine Queen Cersei would say when she has heard you stopped her _favourite _son and _brother_ from seeing her? Hmm?" asked Tyrion poorly attempting to mask a smile as Bruce's eyes bore into the side of his head at the comment. The guard seemed to shrink away at that and quickly marched away. "Open the gate!" shouted the guard. The portcullis opened amongst a clinking of metal chains, the great wooden gates boomed open in the creaking of iron hindges and the clatter of hooves on stone as Tyrion and Bruce sharply trotted into the Red Keep.

Inside the ancient castle, a tourney was in progress. Carpenters had erected a gallery and lists in the outer bailey. Most of the spectators were guardsmen in the gold cloaks of the City Watch or the crimson of House Lannister; of lords and ladies there were but a paltry few, the handful that remained at court. The king was shaded beneath a crimson canopy, one leg thrown lazily over the carved wooden arm of his chair. Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen sat behind him. In the back of the royal box, Sandor Clegane stood at guard, his hands resting on his swordbelt. The white cloak of the Kingsguard was draped over his broad shoulders.

Bruce and Tyrion stopped their horses at the royal box and dismounted their rides. "Your Grace," said Tyrion, bowing a courtesy at his eldest nephew as he wadled up the steps of the gallery. Tommen ran down the gallery to meet him and wrapped his arms around Tyrion, giggling with glee. Tyrion clapped the boy on the back when he drew back. "Look at you," announced the Imp. "Soon you'll be as big as the Mountain," announced Bruce from behind his uncle, "Only much better looking." Tommen went round Tyrion to his elder brother. Bruce grabbed his little brother underneath the shoulders and lifted him into air as high as he could and plotted him on top of his shoulders. The boy giggled at the extra eight foot from the ground and wrapped his arms round Bruce's head, clinging tightly as he was bounced up the steps.

Myrcella came running after her brother, and Tyrion picked her up by the waist and spun her in a circle, squealing. When he lowered her back to the ground, the little man kissed her lightly on the brow and came waddling toward Joffrey. Tyrion nodded at his sister's son. You," Joffrey said. "Me," the Imp agreed. "Us." reminded Bruce, Tommen still holding on. "We heard you were dead." stated Joffery, ignoring his little brother. "I'm glad you're not dead," said Myrcella. "We share that view, child, death is so boring," Tyrion told her plucking a cup of wine from the table, "Particullarly now with this much excitment in the world." Tyrion took a large drink of the wine. Turning back to his nephew Tyrion caught a glimce of one of the Stark girls.

Lady Sansa wore a gown of pale purple silk. Her face was almost the spitting image of her mother aside from the red cheeks and tears brimming her eyes. Tyrion felt a pang of hate flood down his spine at the thought of Catelyn Tully. "My lady, I am sorry for your losses." he told her. Joffery craned his head to his betrothed. "Her loss? Her father was a confessed traitor." "But still her father." Bruce reminded his brother, "Having lost your own father you should have more sympathy." Tyrion winced at that. 'So it begins.' he thought as he took another sip of wine. Joffrey, where might I find your mother?" "She's with my council," the king answered. "Your brother Jaime keeps losing battles." He gave Sansa an angry look, as if it were her fault. "He's been taken by the Starks and we've lost Riverrun and now her stupid brother is calling himself a king." Bruce flashed his brother a wicked grin. "All sorts of people are calling themselves kings these days."

Tyrion hide his smile behind the rim of his goblet as he drank the last of the wine. "Well I hope you have a plesant name day, Your Grace" Tyrion wished the eldest of the three brothers, "I wish we could say but your brother and I have work to do." Bruce removed Tommen from his shoulders and followed his uncle back down the steps of the gallery. Joffery shouted questions and protests after them. "Keep walking." Tyrion reminded Bruce behing gritted teeth. Bruce summond one of his captains and Tyrion Bronn and the four strode into the Red Keep.

* * *

><p>"Her Grace left orders, the council in session is not to be disturbed." said Ser Mandon Moore. "I would be only a small disturbance, ser." Tyrion slid the parchment from his sleeve. "I bear a letter from my father, Lord Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King. There is his seal." The kingsguard shook his head. "Her Grace does not wish to be disturbed," Ser Mandon repeated slowly. Moore would not challenge them to sword, he was outnumbered and as sworn protector of the king's family he would be defenceless by default against Bruce, who would no doubt be the first to draw. And it would scarcely bode well if he began by slaying one of Joffrey's protectors. Yet if he let the man turn him away, where was his authority? "Ser Mandon, you have not met my companions. And this is Bronn. Perchance you recall Ser Vardis Egen, who was captain of Lord Arryn's household guard?" "I know the man." Ser Mandon responded. "Knew," Bronn corrected with a thin smile.<p>

"You may enter." said the white knight, pointing to Tyrion and his nephew, "They may not." Tyrion Lannister shouldered through the door, feeling almost tall, as Bruce trailed in behind him adding a growl to Ser Mandon. Five members of the king's small council broke off their discussion suddenly. A grin creeped up Tyrion's face when he saw his sister's face as he wadled toward her. "More ravishing than ever, big sister." he told her and pecked a kiss on her cheek. Cersei shivered in disgust at the contact between her and him. "What are you doing here?" she demanded of him as he walked round the table to the head of the table. "Delivering a letter from Lord Tywin, mother." answered Bruce as he took a seat in between Littlefinger and Pycelle. Cersei was startled by that, only just noticing her second born. She looked him up and down and he did the same to her.

She back turned to Tyrion "What are you doing here?" she asked again, more decisive than before. Tyrion smiled at that, It's been a remarkable journey. I pissed off the edge of the Wall, I slept in a sky cell, I fought with the hill tribes. So many adventures, so much to be thankful for." said Tyrion, adding a side glance to Lord Baelish who merely raised an eyebrow at him. Tyrion then plucked the letter from his sleeve, and handed it to Varys. The eunuch Varys took the letter and turned it in his delicate powdered hands. "How kind of Lord Tywin." he remarked. "Your father has named Lord Tyrion to serve as Hand in his stead while he fights. And charged Prince Bruce with the defence of the city as Master-at-Arms."

Cersei looked enraged by this. "This is absurd," the queen said at last. "My lord father has sent my brother to sit in his place in this council. He bids us accept Tyrion as the Hand of the King, until such time as he himself can join us." Grand Maester Pycelle stroked beard and nodded "It would seem that a welcome is in order." "Indeed." Janos Slynt agreed. "We have sore need of you, my lords. Rebellion everywhere and rioting in the city streets." Bruce leaned back in his chair. "And whose fault is that, Lord Janos?" He asked, "Your gold cloaks are charged with keeping order." The froggish looking man frowned but did not retort.

The queen looked to have had enough by now. "Out!" she wailed, "All of you!" The council lords made quickly for the door. This left only the three Lannisters together. "I sent for father." Cersie said. "And your father sent us." her son answered. She glarred at him. "I've done nothing." she said in defence. Tyrion nodded in agreement, "Quite right. You did nothing, and now we are at war and four of our kingdoms are rebeling against their king. Do you recall the last king that happened to?" Cersei snarled at her little brother. "I hope you've more to offer than history lessons." she said. Tyrion gave a shrug, "The Starks love their children, and we have two of them." he said a matter of factly. His sister muttered something into her shoulder. "Do speak up sister. I didn't catch that." Tyrion proclaimed. "One." was all Cersei responded. "What?" exclaimed her son hopefully. Tyrion responded more flatly, "One?" "Arya," revealed Cersei, "Little animal disappeared." Having know his nephew so long he caught the slight up turn in the corners of his mouth. "Disappeared? In a puff of smoke?" jested Tyrion.

Cersei turned her cheek, unwilling to respond. "Whose bright idea was it to dismiss Ser Barristan?" asked Tyrion. Cersei sighed, "Joff wanted someone to blame for Robert's death. Varys suggested Ser Barristan. Why not? It gave Jaime command of the Kingsguard and a seat on the small council, and allowed Joff to throw a bone to his dog. He is very fond of Sandor Clegane. We were prepared to offer Selmy some land and a towerhouse, more than the useless old fool deserved." Bruce snickered and leaned forward, "That 'old fool' is one of the greatest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms and more loyal and more experienced in war than anyone King's Landing has ever seen." He told his mother, "All you've done now is given him and his experience to someone else. What will the smallfolk think if they see Barristan the Bold beside the Knight of Flowers at the citie's gates?"

Cersei's mouth tightened. "I had not thought of that." she confessed. "Father did," said Tyrion. "That is why he sent me. To put an end to these follies and bring your son to heel." "Joff will be no more capable in your hands than for mine." Cersie reported. "He might." Tyrion retorted smiling at his nephew. "Why should he?" Again Bruce answered. "He knows you would never hurt him." Cersei's eyes narrowed at her son. "If you believe I'd ever allow you to harm my only son-" "Carefull," he warned her, "Tommen may get jealous if he hears you like this." Tyrion had hoped it wouldn't come to this. Cersei had missed the point of what they were getting at. "Joffrey is as safe with us as he is with you," he assured her, "but so long as the boy feels threatened, he'll be more inclined to listen." Cersei knew there was little point in arguing any more. She rose defiantly but accepted her defeat none the less. "Do what you will. We will speak of it another time." she said and stormed out through the door.

Tyrion and Bruce sat in silence for a moment. "I thought that went well." Bruce said casting a smile over to his uncle. Tyrion shrugged in reply, "Which one's do you want?" Bruce began running a hand through his long black hair as he thought. "You better handle Slynt. I doubt he'll accept an audiance with me now." Tyrion nodded, "Pycelle and Littlefinger will be slipery sods to deal with." Bruce scratched at his budding beard. "I'll handle your good squire's cousin. That much shouldn't be difficult. The spider has some fondness for me I think. Should prove usefull." Tyrion raised his eyebrow. "The eunuch is too smart for you." He declared. Bruce frowned at him. "What makes you think you'll do any better?" Tyrion thought for a moment and sighed, if he was going to do this the last person he needed against him was his only certain ally. "Very well." he relented, "Go change. I'll meet you at the Tower of the Hand tomorrow."

Tyrion made for the door but stopped and turned back to his nephew. "You wouldn't have had anything to do with the Stark girl's escape. Would you?" he asked. Bruce stood, smiling. "Why uncle, I was in the Riverlands. How could I have done anything of the sort." Tyrion sighed, he should expected it. "She would have been safer here. With you." Bruce shook his head, "Try telling Eddard Stark that." Tyrion sighed again, he had a point. "Do you not worry for her though?" he asked him, but Bruce shrugged it off with a laugh. "I worry more for my blacksmith." he told his uncle.


	26. Bruce VIII

**Bruce**

All things considered, Ilyn Payne took his dismissal as Royal Executioner rather well, simply ending his talk with Bruce in a grunt. However, it did strike Bruce that the general one-sidedness of their conversation may have had something to do with his lack of ability to respond. Payne had not been able to say a word for nearly fifteen years, after the Mad King had his tounge pulled out. Despite this fact Payne never bothered to learn to write his responses and thoughts down due to the fact he could not read. The man was as mute as they came.

At Bruce's request Ser Ilyn had relieved himself of the late Lord of Winterfell's greatsword. Bruce sat starring at the ancient sword on the table. Ice had been in the possession of House Stark since the Age of Heroes. Bruce reached his hand across the table to touch the sword. He pulled Ice from the scabbered. It was certainly heavy but Bruce could just about manage it, but not without great effort. It was wide across as a man's hand and almost taller than Bruce. Its Valyrian steel blade has a dark and smokey appearance, seemingly humming in the air as Bruce held it.

Bruce had never seen Valyrian steel up close before. Never had he seen such work before, not in King's Landing or Casterly Rock or Highgarden could the smiths ever produce work like this. It struck Bruce as odd that he could find an instrument of war and death beautiful. _Winter is Coming_ had been engraved on the hilt of the blade. 'That it is.' mussed Bruce as swung the sword at an invisible foe. The blade sliced through the air, shimmering in candle light. Bruce brought Ice back up to face him. Lord Eddard had lossed his head to his own sword, but how many others had lost their's to it also. The Stark's of Winterfell had fought many wars all of them wielding this sword.

Bruce made a promise to himself. He would return the sword to it's rightfull owner before this war was done personally. Whether it would be given Robb Stark's hand or ran through his heart, Bruce didn't like to think about. He resheathed the sword and placed it back onto the table.

Bruce walked over to his wardrobe. He had been dressed in a red and gold doublet with a roaring lion woaven on to the breast for his meeting with Ser Ilyn, it did well to remind the King's Justice who his loyalty really was to during his sacking. Opening the wardrobe he began to shed himself of his uncomfortable attire for something less constrictive for his meeting with his uncle. Pooling the red and gold on the floor, Bruce redressed into a more prefered dress code: A black tunic trimmed with gold, a crowned stag sewn across the chest in yellow thread, the reverse of Baratheon's colours. A scarlett cloak lined with golden thread and patterns, _Hear me roar!_ was emblazened underneath a roaring lion. His grandfather and mother had always made sure Bruce was never too far away from the Lannister coat of arms. The tunic gave Bruce more way to maneuver and the cloak was hung over his shoulders, stopping just below his buttocks and fastened together with a black stag broach.

Picking up the greatsword from the table, Bruce went back to his wardrobe and stood Ice inside of it. He drew out his sword and clipped it to his tunic and closed the door, hiding Lord Eddard's old sword in the cupboard. It would be best hidden away from view. Bruce closed the wardrobe and stepped toward his door.

Exiting his room, Bruce walked down the steps away from the royal appartments. He stopped at the painting of the Battle of Redgrass Field. He rembered when he had told Arya to escape from the Red Keep using the passage it. "It's a beautiful painting." stated a soft voice from behind Bruce. He looked to it's origins and saw the eunuch, Varys. "Indeed it is." Bruce replied.

Varys was dressed in soft silk of yellow and green. He held his hands inside of the sleeves of his robes. "I should congratulate you on your new position. When we last met you were still but a humble prince. Now you are the Master-at-Arms and heir to the throne." said Varys walking over to the prince, his soft slippers gliding over the stone floor. Bruce nodded, "I thank you but it is I that should congratulate you." The eunuch raised an eye brow as he spoke, "And why is that my prince?" Bruce smiled, "For sending the messages I asked you to. My grandfather was most impressed by my efforts and my uncle even more greatfull." Varys bowed. "I live to serve the realm, Your Grace." Bruce gave a 'hmm' in reply. "I have heard Janos Slynt has left the city for The Wall. One of your uncle's men now occupy his position as Commander of the City Watch" Bruce shrugged, "The gold cloaks are too important to be commanded by a thug like Slynt." he told Varys and turned back to the painting.

"I trust you have a replacement for Ser Ilyn in mind." said Varys from beside the prince. Bruce narrowed his eyes at the eunuch, "One of my men, Crag. The one that looks to have more in common with Casterly Rock than a human face." The eunuch nodded and smiled, "I trust he will serve the king well." Bruce laughed. "My uncle would like him to serve your head at breakfast. After you discovered his... friend, in the city." Varys looked unfazed. "He might be disapointed with the results." he said and held an arm out, "Walk with me." Bruce raised an eyebrow and placed his hand on his sword, but did so accompanied the eunuch none the less.

"What do you know of the gold cloaks attack on Littlefinger's brothel?" Varys asked the prince, as they trod lightly down the corridors of the Red Keep. "My mother's doing?" Bruce answered, not totally sure. "Your own sweet mother," Varys said grief-stricken. "It is a hard thing to come to terms with, my lord." Bruce scoffed, "My mother orders the death of innocent babies and their mothers. What am I to make of it?" The eunuch appeared to have sympathy for him. "I tried to take steps to see the older childeren removed from harm's way... but I confess, I never dreamed the babes would be at risk. All baseborn childeren, some less than a year old, with a whores for mothers. What threat could they pose?" Bruce growled behind gritted teeth, "My father's. That would be enough for her."

The eunuch stopped to regard the prince. "Do you know why Lord Eddard was imprisoned by your mother? And what King Renly's claim on the throne is?" he asked. Bruce stopped also and swallowed thickly. "I have heard rumours." he told the eunuch. "They say that my brother is a bastard, with no claim on the throne." Varys nodded and continued walking. "If such rumours were true you should be the king, not your brother." said the eunuch, "And a direct threat to your brother's rule." Bruce stopped sharply. "Are you telling me I am in danger Lord Varys?" he growled at the bald man. "We are always in danger, my prince." he said cryptically.

"There was another bastard, a boy, older than the rest. I believe you know him and admire his work." said Varys glancing at Bruce's sword. One of the prince's eyes twitched as he thought on what was said. "Gendry?!" he gasped after he followed spider's gaze to his sword. "As I understand it he was last seen heading north in the company of one of the late Lord Eddard's daughters." Bruce drew his sword at that. "If you have done anything to them I-" Varys raised his hands in defence, "No, my lord, I have done nothing. In fact I applaude your actions. Pity the same couldn't be done for the girl's sister." Bruce growled and kept his sword pointed at the eunuch. "Sansa Stark is not of my concern. I will do what I can for her, as my uncle will, but I will not risk my neck any more than I already have to." he told the spider. Varys nodded, "And I shall try and aid you both in that endevour also. Now, might I request we contiue our walk?" Bruce sheathed his longsword unwillingly and rested his hand more tightly on it's hilt.

They passed more and more paintings and canvases, as they walked through the Red Keep. "Lord Varys," said Bruce trying to sound far more cordial than before. "If you are truly commited to helping the realm, would you be interested in helping my uncle and I." The eunuch was not shaken or surprised by this as he replied, "Of course, my prince. It is my duty to aid the realm, the king and his hand." They took a left into the gardens. "The crown needs allies in it's time of strife, and what better way to achieve such ties than marriage." Varys nodded gently "Indeed. But there are many possibilities for such a match, I trust you had some candidates in mind." Bruce forced a smile. "Of course. My uncle and I plan to wed my sister, Myrcella, to Theon Greyjoy." The eunuch frowned, as they turned another corner through a bed of flowers. "Theon Greyjoy? Forgive me my prince, but Theon is a ward of Winterfell. He would never betray Robb Stark." he said. "Of course _he_ wouldn't," retorted Bruce, "But Balon Greyjoy would. He loathes the Starks, Greyjoy we convince the boy to come to our side. We can have the Iron Island's ships and Robb Stark will find himself fighting a war on land and at sea." Whether Varys seemed to be convinced or not he did not show. "Very well my prince. I will do what I can to aid you and your uncle." he stopped infront of a stone archway that led back inside of the Red Keep, and bowed to Bruce, "I fear this is where I must end our discussion, my Lord." Bruce gave him leave to go and he walked back into the gardens. "Lord Varys!" shouted Bruce, and the eunuch stopped, turning back toward him, "My mother mustn't know." Varys smiled and bowed again, "Of course, my prince."


	27. Cersei I

**Master of Dragons God**: Thanks

**DannyMcDingles: **You hit the nail on the head.

**Frozen862**: Good thing it ain't going to happen then isn't it. Or will it?

**Silver crow:** He may yet support him. we shall have to wait and see.

**Archagel9418**: Wait no longer

**danceegirl92: **Yeah I get annoyed when OCs do that. It makes the story less interesting. As for Bruce and Robb, it's not that they weren't close, more that Bruce puts his family before his friends. Obviously Joffery is excluded from this.

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><p><strong><span>Cersei<span>**

The queen felt no inclination to wait for her brother to start the meeting of the Small council. Cersei herself sat at one head of the table. She wore crimson robes and a golden tiara on her head which melted into her golden locks beautifully. Around her sat the lords of the council, on her right was her ever dependant and loyal pet, Pycelle. He was in his typical brown robes, his maester's chain hung loosely around his neck and he sat hunched over the chair, so far it looked as though his balls would be brushing against his calves. To her left the spider, Varys. His hands and cheeks were their usual powdered shade and the faint scent of lavender emminated from him and his Myrish silk robe. Beside him was the empty seat which had briefly been occupied by Janos Slynt. She despied her brother a little more for the way he dealt with Slynt and know he planned to ship Myrcella off to Dorne. She would have him brained for that. Opposite the empty chair sat the queen's son, slouched lazily in the chair. Bruce held his arms across his chest, blocking the roaring lion on his doublet. The lion shin cloak covered his shoulders, the hood kept down shrouding his ears and ch as he leaned back against the chair. His hand were covered by red leather riding gloves that matched his boots. Beside the prince resided Littlefinger. Baelish sat straight in the chair covered in purple and yellow garbs. A thin smile painted on his lips as he twirled a gold dragon between his fingers.

Cersei addressed them in her most regal manner, her back straight and chest thrust forward. "What do you have to report?" she asked them. The eunuch spoke first, his soft hand molding together in his lap. "My little birds have word from across the Narrow Sea, Your Grace." Cersei raised an eyebrow at that. "Across the sea?" she asked the Master-of-Whispers. "The Targaryen childeren. It seems the Beggar King has finally been crowned." answered Varys. "The Dothraki have had him crowned in molten gold." Cersei smiled at that, she may not have loved Robert Baratheon, but she admired his hatred of the Targaryens. "Good," she said, "One less threat for us to deal with." Though Varys seemed less convinced, "There is still the late Viserys' sister, Daenerys." Cersei scoffed at that, "A girl on the otherside of the world is the least of our problems. What else?"

Now it was Littlefinger who spoke. "We have an envoy from the Iron Bank of Braavos, Your Grace." Cersei did not care for copper counting at the moment, not while there was a war to be fought. "I trust you shall handle it, Lord Baelish." she said to the master-of-coin. Baelish nodded, his thin smile becoming gently wider. "With pleasure, Your Grace."

At that moment the door to the council chambers opened and in steped the Hand. "Your Grace." Tyrion bowed politely. "You look lovely this morning. Forgive my tardiness My Lords. I was on council buiseness." The queen reared her head at this. "What buiseness? she snapped at her brother. "A raven from father, sweet sister. He has news from the war." he answered, her plucking a piece of parchment from his sleeve. The imp unfolded the sheet of paper and read it's underlying contents aloud: "Stannis Baratheon landed at Griffin's Roost and lays siege with ten thousand men from the Narrow Sea and Free Cities sellswords. Ser Cortnay Penrose marches twenty tousand men of the Stormlands north. Robert's bastard holds Storm's End in Renly's stead. Renly marches up the Rose Road with the strength of Highgarden behind him."

The council members sat in silence, each glancing from one to the other. All but Cersei and Tyrion who sat starring at each other from across the table. The queen's face was that of a deep distasteful snarl, the way her hair fell down her neck making her look like a lioness. Tyrion's face was more of a faint grin, his mismatched eyes glimmering at his sister. "What are you going to do about this then, little brother?" Cersei asked her son's Hand. He gave a shrug, "What can I do?" he said jovially, "Write and ask Renly to stop his march?" Cersei's eye began to twitch. "You could write to father and command him bring his army here, like I asked originally." The faint glimmer of a grin on her brother's face now turned into a full one. "If you can't command father to come to King's Landing, what makes you think I can?" he replied. Cersei now began to chew her lip.

She turned to Varys furiously. "What do we know of Stannis's ambitions." she barked at the eunuch. Varys placed his powdered hands on the table as he spoke to her. "His ambitions still stand as they were, Your Grace. Lord Stannis simply looks to take Storm's End." "Why?!" she demanded, "Why now?!" Her son answered the question. "My father is dead. Stannis fought in all his wars and was loyal to him to a fault and wouldn't hope to destroy the peace he helped make. Now the king is dead, he wants what he thinks his." Cersei looked at her son and thought hard on what was said. It could be true Stannis never had a love for either Robert or Renly, only his loyalty had kept him in check. "Stannis must come to the capital," she said at last, "He must bend the knee before Joffery, before he can become Lord of the Stormlands. He could just as easily claim my son's throne," Tyrion snickered, "Good luck getting him to do that. No man is less likely to bend the knee to a boy than a man with an army at his back." Cersei turned back to the dwarf, "And what would you have us do?" Tyrion leaned back in his chair and flicked the piece of paper over the table at her. "Nothing. If Stannis wants Storm's End let him take it. It keeps Renly from taking his full strength out of the Stormlands and Renly may even march on him first. That would give us more time to prepare ourselves." he told the queen. The other lords had their agreement written on their faces, but only Varys voiced his. "Given the circumstances, Your Grace, it would be better if we focused only on the immediate threats."

"Such as?" asked the queen. Her brother answered again, "Like the fact that the smallfolk are ready to eat each other." Cersei sniffed at that. "That is none of our concern." she stated. Now her son leaned forward in his chair. "It is if they are blaming the king for it. If they are willing to do that to each other, what do you imagine they would do to Joffery." Cersei bristled at that. "Janos Slynt would have been able to keep order." she said craning her neck to her brother. Tyrion laughed at that. "Sweet sister, Slynt would have butchered half the peasants himself and served them to the dogs to spite the others that he didn't." announced the imp. "At least then there would be less mouths to feed." the queen retorted. "I think getting more food would be a better option." shot back Tyrion. "And how would we do that?" snapped his sister. Littlefinger stopped toying with his gold dragon to add his voice, "I have taken the liberty of hiring a number of smugglers to attepmt to create a more stable supply of food, Your Grace." Tyrion also answered the question, "I have had the cities carpenters start to build boats. Those who want food can fish for it." Finally, the queen's son added his voice again, "I have opened up the kingswood to any hunters who want to cross the river and sent groups of my men to forage for food outside the city."

Cersei looked satisfied with their reponses. She then looked to her little brother. "Renly Baratheon has marched from Highgarden. He is making his way up the roseroad, with all his strength behind him." she said. "Indeed he is." he replied. "He could be here by the full moon." she said "Not at his present leisurely pace," Tyrion assured her. "He feasts every night in a different castle, and holds court at every crossroads he passes." "And every day, more men rally to his banners. His host is now said to be a hundred thousand strong." the queen stated a matter-of-factly "That seems rather high." her brother stated "He has the power of Storm's End and Highgarden behind him, you little fool," Cersei snapped down at him.

"What have you done with our defences?" she barked at her son. He leaned forward in his char. "As of yet. Nothing, I was preparing myself to evaluate our defences but I was then summound to this meeting." Bruce told his mother. "What are our numbers?" Tyrion asked his nephew. The prince took a piece of parchment from his sleeve and read off it. "Janos Slynt left the City Watch with four thousand men. I have one thousand men under my personal command. I have asked the city smiths to fashion us with ten thousand pieces of armour and as many weapons as they can produce." he folded the paper away. Cersei looked shocked. "And?" she asked. Her son shrugged at her, "As I said, I have yet to inspect the defences myself yet. Until then I will take no action." Tyrion now looked to the Master-at-Arms. "What plan do you have in mind?" he asked. Bruce brought his hands together and put his elbows on the table. "I am having two hundered men placed permenatly at every gate. I'm going to have a group of my men sent round every taveren and brothel in the city every night and gather all the drunks and fold them into the gold cloaks as punishment. The garrison will get priority for food, that should encourage more people to join. All of the smallfolk that are fighting fit that come through the city gates will be conscripted into the defence." he looked to his mother, "Satisfied?" Cersei did not reply to him.

Tyrion looked round the table and then to her. "I think our meeting is over, My Lords." he said. All of them filled out of the room, only Cersei and her brother remained. She starred down the table at the imp distainfully. "When do you plan to free Jaime? He's worth a hundred of you." Tyrion grinned at her crookedly. "Don't tell Lady Stark. We don't have a hundred of me to trade." She scowled at him him deeply. "What a disgusting little worm you are. Myrcella is my only daughter. Did you truly imagine that I would allow you to sell her off like a cow at market." He smirked at her. "Hardly a cow at market. Myrcella is a princess. Some would say this is what she was born for. Or did you plan to marry her to Tommen?"

Her hand lashed out, "Brother or no, I should have your tongue out for that. I am Joffrey's regent, not you, and I say that Myrcella will not be shipped off to this Dornishman the way I was shipped to Robert Baratheon." Tyrion raised an eyebrow at her and shrugged."Why not? She'd be a deal safer in Dorne than she is here." Cersei barred her teeth at him. "Are you utterly ignorant or just simple? You know as well as I that the Martells have no cause to love us." Tyrion brought ahand up to rub his cheek. "The Martells have every cause to hate us. Nonetheless, I expect them to agree. Prince Doran's grievance against House Lannister goes back only a generation, but the Dornishmen have warred against Storm's End and Highgarden for a thousand years, and Renly has taken Dorne's allegiance for granted. Myrcella is nine, Trystane Martell eleven. I have proposed they wed when she reaches her fourteenth year. Until such time, she would be an honored guest at Sunspear, under Prince Doran's protection." "A hostage," Cersei said, mouth tightening. "An honored guest," Tyrion insisted, "and I suspect Martell will treat Myrcella more kindly than Joffrey has treated Sansa Stark. Bruce had a mind to send Ser Mandon Moore with a knight of the Kingsguard as her sworn shield, no one is like to forget who or what she is."

Cersei swallowed thickly. "Small good Ser Mandon will do her if Doran Martell decides that my daughter's death would wash out his sister's." The imp shook his head. "Martell is too honorable to murder a nine-year-old girl, particularly one as sweet and innocent as Myrcella. So long as he holds her he can be reasonably certain that we'll keep faith on our side, and the terms are too rich to refuse. Myrcella is the least part of it. I've also offered him his sister's killer, a council seat, some castles on the Marches..." Cersei rose from her chair. "Too much." Cersei paced away from him, restless as a lioness, skirts swirling. "You've offered too much, and without my authority or consent." The dwarf sighed. "This is the Prince of Dorne we are speaking of. If I'd offered less, he'd likely spit in my face." "Too much!" Cersei insisted, whirling back, tear forming in her eyes. "How safe do you think Myrcella will be if King's Landing falls? Renly and Robb Stark will mount her head beside yours!" shouted Tyrion, his own anger flashing.

Cersei began to cry.

Her brother reached a hand out to her, but she saw it. "Don't touch me," she said, wrenching away. Tyrion sighed. "I promise you, nothing will happen to Myrcella." he told the queen. "Liar," she said turning from him. "You told me you would free Jaime too. Well, where is he? " "In Riverrun, I should imagine. Safe and under guard, until I find a way to free him." Cersei stalked away from her brother. "How could Jaime let himself be captured by that boy? And Father, but where is he now that he's wanted?" "Fighting." Tyrion answered her. Cersei scoffed, "Really? It looks more like he is hiding." "There is hidding and there is waiting," Tyrion suggested. "Each one waits for the other to move, but the lion is still, poised, his tail twitching. No matter which way the wolf goes, the lion will have him, and he knows it." "And you're quite certain that Father is the lion?" Tyrion grinned. "It's on all our banners."

"Jaime would not be sitting by idly, I promise you." Cersei stated. Jaime would save them all, defeat Stark and Renly both with one swing of his sword. "Not all of us can be as bold as Jaime, but there are other ways to win wars. Harrenhal is strong and well situated." Cersei began pacing again, "And King's Landing is not, as we both know perfectly well. Father sends us a boy to protect us, while he sits and toys with Riverrun. Renly marches up the roseroad. He could be at our gates any day now!" Tyrion sighed again. "That 'boy' is your son. He will not let this city fall, even if he has to die to do it." Cersei looked to her brother as he continued, "He has Robert's mind for warfare and fights like Jaime. He has been taught by father almost everything he knows and is even more stubborn than you. More importantly he knows both Renly and the Tyrell's, if anyone can stop them it is Bruce."

Cersei's green eyes bored into the imp, hungry for the reassurance he was feeding her. "And if Robb Stark marches?" Tyrion lifted himself from the chair, "Stark cannot march on King's Landing without taking Harrenhal first, and after the Green Fork he has the foot enough for neither. Meanwhile Father lives off the fat of the riverlands, while our uncle Stafford gathers fresh levies at the Rock." Cersei regarded him suspiciously. "How could you know all this? Did Father tell you his intentions when he sent you the raven." The imp flashed her another winning smirk. "I looked at a map." With that he took his leave.

Just as the dwark reached th door she ordered him to stop. "Why would Bruce die for Joffery when they hate each other so much?" she asked him. Her brother raised an eyebrow at her. "It's not Joff he is willing to die for." he told her and left. Cersei went to the chair at the head of the table and sat her head in her hands. Perhaps they might survive this yet.


	28. Tyrion V

**Archagel9418****:** Sadly, we all have to wait a little longer for it yet

**big allen****:** perhaps ;)

**Silver crow:** Mandon maybe a piece of shit but he is also the best fighter after Selmy and Jaime. He is also smart and one of Cersei's, he would no better than to fuck with Myrcella when he knows what Cersei alone would do with him if he did. As for Cersei we may be seeing a change of heart from her soon.

**Erainor****:** Thank you

**DannyMcDingles****:** Thank you Hammer of Guessing Character's Who Know Unreliable Facts! keep the reviews coming

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><p><strong><span>Tyrion<span>**

"Wildfire?!" shouted Bruce, as his uncle supped his wine from across the table. Tyrion set the wine down, swallowed and nodded. "Yes wildfire," he confirmed, "Your mother has had ten thousand jars of it commissioned by the pyromancers. She plans to have it launched from catapults into Renly's army." The prince shook his head firmly. "That's folly," he told his uncle, "One pot falls over in the middle of the battle and the entire city goes up in flames." Tyrion nodded his agreement at the statment. "I thought the same. But it may have other uses." Bruce leaned toward his uncle at this. "What do you have in mind?" he asked him. Tyrion picked up the wine and took a few more sips. "We could drop it on them from a top the walls. Uses cauldrons from atop the gatehouses. When they reach the gates with their ram or even after they've broken it down, we drop it on them and burn them where they stand." Bruce seemed not wholly sure of this idea, Tyrion could see it written on his face. "Give time to think on it." he told his uncle. Tyrion nodded.

There was then a knock on the door of the chamber. "Enter!" Tyrion shouted at the dense wood. Bronn entered the door and bowed to them. "Did you find him?" Tyrion asked the sellsword. Bronn nodded, "Aye, I did. He has company." he answered, "I'd hate to interupt." Tyrion leaned back in his chair. "No you wouldn't." he stated. The sellsword smiled. "You're right I wouldn't." Tyrion then dismissed him. Bruce rose from his chair. "Which one was it?" he asked. Tyrion drained the last of his wine and stood also. "Pycelle." he answered simply. His nephew nodded grimly, "So it's off to Dorne with Myrcella then?" Tyrion walked across the room and his nephew followed. "It will be safer for her in Dorne." he reminded him. Bruce did not answer but accepted the argument all the same.

The two decended the Tower of the Hand in silence. As they reached the bottom and turned into the Hand's barracks they saw Bronn assembling a group of tribesmen and one of Bruce's captain's assembling a group of gold cloaks. Tyrion turned to his nephew. "Have your men raid his supplies and cellars. Have them take count of everything there." he told the young prince, "You, me and my men will go and take care of our ever loyal servant." Bruce nodded and barked out for his captain. Tyrion's look turned sour when he saw who answered.

Ever since he had first met him, Tyrion had an uneasy feeling about Crag the Butcher. His head was entirley devoid of any hair and covered in a number of gruesome scars. He towered above all the Vale tribesmen, his bald appearing in sharp contrast to their fully fured ones. The giant was never too far away from his enourmas meat cleaver, which was almost doule the height of Tyrion. When Bruce had told him who he had picked to replace Ilyn Payne, Tyrion was vastly sceptical of this decision. At first glance the man seemed to have more in common with Gregor the Mountain, than the merciful lamb type Tyrion would have chosen. But, despite his protest, he had allowed Bruce his decision and it was seemingly paying off. Bruce had also placed him in charge of drilling the new additions to the City Watch, it seems that the smallfolk were less likely to cock up a spear thrust or volley of arrows with the King's Justice behind them ready to split them in half.

The great hulking figure lumbered toward Tyrion and his nephew, seeming to block out all light in the room as his shadow draped over them. Bruce relayed him his orders and with a sharp grunt of "Yes M'lord." he strode away and walked from the room giving a babaric yawp to the gold cloaks to follow. After they left Bronn approached the two. "Ready?" Tyrion asked him and the sellsword nodded his reply. "Excellent!" gave Tyrion and turned to his nephew, "Let's go." Shagga son of Dolph approached his employer with his tribesmen lined up behind him. "Is your axe sharp, Shagga?" Tyrion asked the barbarian. "A Stone Crow's axe is always sharp, and Shagga's axes are sharpest of all. Once I cut off a man's head, but he did not know it until he tried to brush his hair. Then it fell off." grunted Shagga. "Is that why you never brush yours?" Bruce offered, pulling his lion head over his brow. The Stone Crows roared and stamped their feet, Shagga hooting loudest of all.

It was midnight, the castle was silent and dark. A few odd gold cloaks on the walls spied them leaving the Tower of the Hand, but no one raised a voice. He was the Hand of the King with the Crown Prince, and where they went was their own affair.

The thin wooden door split with a thunderous crack beneath the heel of Shagga's boot. Pieces went flying inward, and Tyrion heard a woman's gasp of fear. Shagga hacked the door apart with three great blows of his axe and kicked his way through the ruins. Timett followed, then Tyrion, stepping gingerly over the splinters and finally Bruce, the wooden splinters snapping beneath his boots. When Timett ripped the heavy curtains off the bed, the naked serving girl stared up with wide white eyes. "Please, my lords," she pleaded, "don't hurt me." She cringed away from Shagga, flushed and fearful, trying to cover herself with her hands and coming up a hand short. "Go," Tyrion told her. "It's not you we want." But Shagga blocked her from leaving. "Shagga wants this woman." "Shagga wants every whore in this city of whores," complained Timett son of Timett. "Yes," Shagga said. "Shagga would give her a strong child." "If she wants a strong child, she'll know whom to seek," Tyrion said. "Timett, see her out... gently, if you would."

The Burned Man pulled the girl from the bed and half marched, half dragged her across the chamber. Shagga watched them go, mournful as a puppy. The girl stumbled over the shattered door and out into the hall, helped along by a firm shove from Timett. Tyrion dragged the soft blanket off the bed, uncovering Grand Maester Pycelle beneath. "Tell me, does the Citadel approve of you bedding wenches, Maester?" The old man was as naked as the girl, though he was a far less attractive sight. "W-what is the meaning of this? I am an old man, your loyal servant..." Tyrion fell into a chair beside the bed. "So loyal that you betrayed the secret of my plans to wed Princess Myrcella to the Martell boy?" "N-no," squealed Pycelle. "No, a falsehood! I swear it, it was not me. Varys! It was Varys, the Spider, I warned you-" Bruce gave laugh from behind Tyrion. He was leaned up against the now ruined door frame. "I told Varys my uncle was planning to wed my sister off to the Greyjoy's." Tyrion leaned back in the chair and swung one leg over the other. "And I told Littlefinger that I planned to wed Myrcella to Lord Robert of the Eyrie. I told no one that I had offered Myrcella to the Dornish... No one but you." Pycelle clutched for a corner of the blanket. "Birds are lost, messages stolen or sold . . . it was Varys, there are things I might tell you of that eunuch that would chill your blood. Make no mistake, for every secret the eunuch whispers in your ear, he holds seven back. And Littlefinger, that one . . . " Tyrion smiled as he spoke, "I know all about Lord Petyr. He's almost as untrustworthy as you. Shagga, cut off his manhood and feed it to the goats." Shagga hefted the huge double-bladed axe. "There are no goats, Halfman."

"Make do."

Shagga gave a loud roar and leapt onto the bed. Pycelle shrieked and wet the bed, urine spraying in all directions as he tried to scramble back out of reach. The wildling caught him by the end of his billowy white beard and hacked off half of it with a single slash of the axe. Tyrion turned to his nephew. "Bruce, do you suppose our friend will be more forthcoming without those whiskers to hide behind?" Tyrion used a bit of the sheet to wipe the piss off his boots. "He will tell the truth soon." said the prince a smile crawling across his face, "If he doesn't, I'm sure the peseants will be glad of more meat." Pycelle's eyes widened in total fear.

Shagga tossed a handful of hair down to the rushes, and seized what beard was left. "Hold still, Maester," urged Tyrion. "When Shagga gets angry, his hands shake." "Shagga's hands never shake," the huge man said indignantly, pressing the great crescent blade under Pycelle's quivering chin and sawing through another tangle of beard. "How long have you been spying for my sister?" Tyrion asked. Pycelle's breathing was rapid and shallow. "All I did, I did for House Lannister." sweat painted the old man's brow, "Your lord father, ask him, I was ever his true servant. Since the time of the Mad King." Bruce snorted "How many have you betrayed? King Aerys, Eddard Stark, us. Prince Rhaegar? My father even? Where did it start, Pycelle?" They knew where it ended.

The axe scratched at Pycelle's throat and stroked the soft wobbly skin under his jaw, scraping away the last hairs. "You... were not here," he gasped when the blade moved upward to his cheeks. "Your father... his wounds... if you had seen them you would have no doubt..." Tyrion was now having to watch where this was going. "Oh I we have no doubt Pycelle... We merely wonder what you will do when Renly turns up at the gates." The maester sputtered into more life. "Renly was plotting to bring the Highgarden maid to court, to entice his brother... remove your sister... it is the gods' own truth... " Bruce stepped away from the door and further into the room. "And I suppose Lord Arryn was plotting something as well?"

"Get him out of my sight." snapped Tyrion, who was not anxious for Bruce, Shagga and Timett to know why Arryn had been killed, "Throw him in one of the black cells." Shagga and his tribesmen dragged him out the splintered door. "Lannister," he moaned, "All I've done has been for Lannister..." Once he was gone Bruce turned to his uncle. "You know what this means don't you?" he said grimmly. Tyrion nodded. Of all the Small Council Pycelle was the one they'd hoped to trust. Varys and Littlefinger were no more loyal, only more subtle, and thus more dangerous. Perhaps his father's way would have been best: mount three heads above the gates, and have done. And wouldn't that be a pretty sight.


	29. Sansa

**Archagel9418: **Cersei does love him but she hates the fact he had to have been Robert's. Ideally to her he would have been Jaime's and like Jaime as apposed to Robert's and a sort of amalgamation of Robert, Jaime and little bit of Tywinn

**Naruhina1519**: Either a very young John Hurt or very young Ian McKellen

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><p><strong><span>Sansa<span>**

Sandor Clegane led her into the Throne Room, where a crowd had gathered around the Iron Throne blocking off all escape. Men moved aside to let them through. Sat on his throne was King Joffery, where a crowd had gathered around the king. Men moved aside to let them through. On his throne sat King Joffery, dressed in red velvet trimmed with gold. The crown atop his brow was overwhelmed by the blond curls that spun and intwined themselves in the stalks that jutted out of his gold circlet. Beside the king were two of his kingsguard. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn stood facing eachother on opposite sides of their king. Their heads were bare, helms under one arm, the other gripping the hilt of their swords. Joffery held a crossbow aross his knees, working a fresh bolt into it. The sight of the crossbow began to pull Sansa's stomach into knots.

"Your Grace." She fell to her knees, but Joffery snickered as she did and rose "Kneeling won't save you now," the king said. "Stand up. You're here to answer for your brother's latest treasons." Sansa felt her throat begin to tighten as she choked out, "Your Grace, whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part. You know that, I beg you, please-" The king would have none of it. "Ser Lancel," Joff said, "tell her of this outrage."

The tall green eyed boy stepped forward toward the throne and announced to the crowd. "Using some vile sorcery, your brother fell upon Ser Stafford Lannister with an army of wolves, only three days ride from Casterly Rock. Thousands of good men were butchered as they slept, without the chance to lift sword. After the slaughter, the northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain." The crowd of noblemen and ladies began to shout their outrage and spit at Sansa while she knelt facing away from them. "You have nothing to say?" asked Joffrey, raising his crossbow at Sansa. "You Starks are as unnatural as those wolves of yours. I've not forgotten how your monster savaged me." Sansa's eyes widened in fear. "That was Arya's wolf," she said. "Lady would never hurt you." Joffery snorted and barked out for Ser Boros.

Boros left his king's side and moved out of the front of the hall, shoving past the nobles like shrubbery in a wood. When he returned he was dragging something by a leash. As the crowd parted further Sansa cried out in horror when she caught sight of Lady being pulled along, whinning and whimpering. Sansa turned to the king. "Your Grace!" she begged, "You and your Lady Mother both swore you would never-" Joffery laughed. "The wailing of women!" he hooted and the court also laughed though more nervously. Joffery wiped the tears from his eyes. "Very well then," he said, "If not your mutt, you." Joffery raised the crossbow at her and a few vague gasps went through the hall. Sansa raised her arms to shield herself but it seemed he thought better of himself.

Frowning, he lowered the crossbow. "I'd shoot you, but if I do Mother says they'd kill my uncle Jaime. Instead you'll just be punished and we'll send word to your brother about what will happen to you if he doesn't yield. Boros. Meryn." Ser Boros released his grip on Lady's leash and handed it to a neaerby gold cloak, and seized Sansa. "Leave her face," Joffrey commanded. "I like her pretty."

Boros slammed a fist into Sansa's belly, driving the air out of her. When she doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat. As he laid the flat of the blade across her thighs, she thought her legs might break from the force of the blow. Sansa screamed. Tears welled in her eyes. It will be over soon. She soon lost count of the blows. "Boros, make her naked." Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa's bodice and gave a hard yank. The silk came tearing away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her breasts with her hands. She could hear sniggers, far off and cruel. "Beat her bloody." shouted someone from the crowd as they began to jeer the knight son as they abused her.

"What is the meaning of this!?" a voice shouted cracking the air like a whip. The crowd shuddered to silence instantly and parted. Suddenly Sansa was free. She stumbled to her knees, arms crossed over her chest, her breath ragged. "Is this your notion of chivalry, Ser Boros?" asked the voice. Sansa turned to see her saviour. It was the king's younger brother, Bruce. He wore a red and gold doublet with a roaring lion woaven on to the breast. Drooped over his shoulders the famous lion skin cloak, his long black hair rugged and curtaining his ears. Behind him two men, one had a centaur with bow running across a white field on his breastplate. The other had three red cheverons on a silver background on his chestguard. "What sort of knight beats helpless girls?" he demanded of Boros. "The sort who serves his king." said Trant. Ser Boros raised his sword, and Ser Meryn stepped up beside him, his blade scraping clear of its scabbard. "Careful with those," warned the the younger of the prince's companions, "You don't want to get blood all over those pretty white cloaks." and drew his own sword.

The prince growled out to the noone in particular, "Someone give the girl something to cover herself with," Sandor Clegane unfastened his cloak and tossed it at her. Sansa clutched it against her chest, fists bunched hard in the white wool. The coarse velvet scratched against her skin, but nothing had ever felt so fine.

"This girl's to be your queen," Bruce warned Joffrey. "Have you no regard for her honour?" Joffery squirmed under his brother's glare."I'm punishing her." he stated."For what crime?" shouted the bewilderd Crown Prince. "She does not fight her brother's battles." snorted his brother. "She has the blood of a wolf." Bruce laughed, "And you have the brain of a leech." Joffery's retort was immediate, "You can't talk to me that way. The king can do as he likes." Bruce ascended the steps toward his brother. "Aerys Targaryen did as he liked. Has uncle Jaime ever told you what happened to him?" A murmmer of disconent shadowed the the room as everyone saw the prince and where he stood. Ser Maryn stepped to the king. "No man threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard." Bruce let out a laugh. "I prefer a firm hand and action to idle threats, Ser." he said turning to adress the knight and suddenly his arm flung out and struck his brother across the face.

Joffery hit the ground hard and his crown tumbled from his head, rolling away from his head. Sansa and the rest of the court looked on in wonder as they saw the prince a single swip of his or his guards swords away from being king. Ser Boros turned a dark shade of red. "The queen will hear of this!" The prince smiled at the thought. "Good. And why wait? Joffrey, shall we send for mother?" The king cast a glare at his brother through his red and tear filling eyes. He looked desperate to speak out but held his tounge for fear of another thrashing. "Nothing to say, Your Grace?" his brother went on "Good. Learn to use your ears more than your mouth less. Needless beatings are no way to earn the love of your people or queen's." Joffery snorted and began to rise to his knees. "Fear is better than love, Mother says." Joffrey pointed at Sansa. "She fears me."

The prince sighed deeply. "Yes. A pity Stannis and Renly aren't young girls as well. Ser Boros. Trant. Escort my brother to his chambers." If either of them looked to protest they were silenced when the Hound grabbed Joffery and pulled him away from his brother. The crowd parted for the king as he left. Sansa knew better than to let her smile be shown but she felt great relief flood from herself none the less. Halfway down the room the king stopped and the entire room shuddered to hault as they saw him stand fast. His eyes were wide with fear and his lip began to tremble. Joffery turned to look back at the throne and the whole room followed his gaze and gasped.

They looked and saw the Crown Prince stood,his back turned to them. Sansa looked back to Joffery and saw it. His crown was gone! She looked back to Bruce and he turned to face them all in his hands Joffery's crown. His fingers roamed over the matal work intently and his eyes glazed over in absolute wonder. 'Take it!' Sansa wanted to shout, but she knew better to do so and like the rest of them looked on helplessly at the prince as his hands glided over Joffery's birth right. Bruce looked up at them and glowered straight at his brother. The prince seemed to be trying to read every detail of his brother down to the last hair. He swallowed thickly and croaked out, "Kyle. Take Lady Sansa and her pup to her chambers." His voice was but a whisper and was scarcley heard. The knight with a centaur on his breast approached Sansa and pulled her from the room. As the knight led Sansa away she never let her sight leave either the prince or king. At last Bruce stopped looking at his brother and shifted his eyes to the Iron Throne. His breathing was shallow and could be heard even as the knight led her out of the room.

Their footsteps clapping on the stone floor did nothing to disuade Sansa from trying to listen to what she could hear. As they reached the end of the hallway there was a sharp metallic clang. Sansa looked back and the knight hauted and drew his sword at the noise. Lady's ears perked up and she leaned forward to listen. From out of the Throne Room doors rolled the crown. It rolled in a circle for a while and stopped. The thunderous clacking of heels on stone was herd and Joffery divide out of the room and scrambled for the crown. After he placed it on his head his guards followed, and in silence, led their master away.

Sansa was a lady and like a lady she never under any normal circumstances swore. But thus was by far a normal circumstance.


	30. Bruce IX

**Naruhina1519**: Thanks

**Archagel9418**: I'm not sure just having chapters like that would make for a good story.

**colonel killgore: **Please do tell. My ego can know no bounds

**Guest: **I'd sooner piss on wildfire than write anything like that

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><p><strong><span>Bruce<span>**

All credit due to his sister. The girl never wept. Young as she was, Myrcella Baratheon was a princess born. And a Lannister, despite her name, Bruce reminded himself. She had as much lion's blood as stag's. When it came time for her to part it was Tommen who cried and his sister who comforted him.

Bruce looked across the harbour to the escourt lying in wait. His uncle had been a little uneasy to detach so great a part of their already depleted fleet. Bruce found himself in agreement with his mother for once, if the girl was captured before she reached Sunspear, the Dornish alliance would fall to pieces.

Bruce's mother was stood off to the side of their farewells. Beside her was Ser Mandon Moore. She was speaking in a hushed tone to Mycella's sworn shield. Bruce glanced back to where the Rush emptied out into Blackwater Bay and was relieved to see no signs of sails on the widening horizon. At last report, the Baratheon fleet still lay off Griffin's Roost, where Ser Ronnet continued to defy the besiegers in King Renly's name.

Bruce watched his sister kneel before the High Septon to receive his blessing on her voyage. Sunlight caught in his crystal crown and spilled star light across Myrcella's face. The noise from the riverside made it impossible to hear the prayers. He hoped the gods had ears sharper than mere mortals. The High Septon was as fat as a house, and more pompous and full of himself than even Pycelle. 'Enough, old man'. Be done with it,' Bruce thought irritably, as he wrapped an arm around his little brother's shoulder. 'The gods have better things to do than listen to you, and so do I.'

When at last it was all done Bruce gave his sister a final, fleeting nod and smile and led his brother onto solid ground. The royal party began to assemble around them, either dismounting the deck of the ship or coming down from the higher dock. The last to come off the ship was Tyrion, escorted by Bronn. He pushed through the crowd to join his sister and his nephews. The Hand stood beside the queen in silence and Bruce saw her attention turn from Ser Lancel to him. She leaned toward her brother and whispered something in his ear, her breath close enough to shift his blond locks. Bruce didn't hear what was said but he caught the black glimmer of his uncle's eye as it flinched back to look at the queen.

Horns blew fanfares as Lionstar and Lady Lyanna pushed out from shore, moving downriver to clear the way for Seaswift. Myrcella smiled and waved from the deck. Behind her stood Ser Mandon his white cloak flapping in the wind violently. The ships oars crashed into the waves brewing up froth and salt water. Tommen's soft mewlings burst into full out splutters of tears and snott. He turned round and wrapped his tubby arms around his elder brother's waist and wept into the yellow field of Bruce's Baratheon tunic.

Bruce would not have it. He brushed Tommen's tears away and forced him to turn round. "Be strong. Your a Lannister _and_ a Baratheon." he told him as his brother sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Bruce felt his heart tighten when he looked back to see his sister gone from the deck. He felt his hands tighten around Tommen and pulled him closer. He ran a hand through his brother's blond hair as his tears beagn to subside.

"You mew like a suckling pup," Joffer hissed at his brothers. "Princes aren't supposed to cry." Sansa Stark spoke up before Bruce could retort. "The Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon," Sansa Stark said, "And my brother Rickon cried when I left Winterfell." Joffery rounded on his betrothed. "Is your brother a prince?" The girl shook her head, "Then be quiet. Or I'll have Ser Meryn give you a mortal wound." Bruce's head turned swiftly to the king. His growl was low and loud and Joffery seemed shrink back at it and turn from the Stark girl. Bruce looked back to the his mother. She seemed oblivious to what at just happened, but then Bruce caught his uncle's gaze. The dwarf's brow was raised in questioning. Bruce gave a shrug that scarcely seemed to satisfy the Hand of the King.

The little fleet was well out into the bay when Cersei indicated that it was time to go. Bruce led Tommen to his horse and lifted him on to his pony adding a ruffle of the youngest prince's hair which he seemed to enjoy as he giggled. Bruce mounted his own horse with ease and kicked off to his position in the collum.

The narrow streets were lined by men of the City Watch, holding back the crowd with the shafts of their spears. Bronn and Drake Rykker went in front, heading a wedge of mounted lancers in black mail and golden cloaks. Behind them came Ser Balon Swann, bearing the king's banners.

Joffrey followed on a tall grey stallion, his golden crown set upon his golden curls. Sansa Stark rode a chesnut mare at his side, looking neither right nor left, her thick auburn hair flowing to her shoulders. Two of the Kingsguard flanked the couple, the Hound on the king's right hand and Meryn Trant on the left of the Stark girl. Next came Tommen, snuffling gone in favour of smiling, with Ser Arys in his white cloak and armour. After them came Tyrion and Bruce side by side each with four of their own men. Then the queen with Ser Preston Greenfield and Boros Blount. The rest of the royal court fell in behind them.

A hundred thousand scabby eyes and cracked faces looked down at them as they rode through the streets of King's Landing. Faces of discontent and eyes of hatered all fell upon them. Bruce shared a glance with Tyrion. Tyrion flicked his eyes at his nephew's sword. "Keep that close and me even closer, would you?" the imp asked. Any other time Bruce would have laughed but now even the slightest movement could cause the bubble to burst and unleash the flood of the smallfolk. Instead he nodded gently and shifted his hand to just beneath the hilt of his sword.

They crossed Fishmonger's Square and rode along Muddy Way before turning onto the narrow, curving Hook to begin their climb up Aegon's High Hill. A few voices raised a cry of "King Joffrey! All hail, all hail!" as the young king rode by, but for every man who picked up the shout, a thousand kept their silence. The Lannisters moved through a sea of ragged men and hungry women, breasting a tide of sullen eyes. Just ahead of him, Cersei was laughing at something Lancel had said, though Bruce suspected her joy was false. She could not be oblivious to the unrest around them, but his mother had always believed in putting on the brave show.

At the head of the collum a woman broke through the line of spears and stumbled toward the king. Her face was gaunt and haggard, the skin of her legs doing more to cover her bones than the rags she was clad in, but the real horror was the eyes. Joffrey looked for a moment as if he meant to ride her down, but the queen must have seen. "Leave her, Your Grace," Cersei called out to the king, "she's beyond our help, poor thing."

Somehow the queen's voice cut through the woman's wits like Valyrian Steel through paper. Her slack face twisted in loathing. "Whore!" she shrieked pointing to the queen. "Kingslayer's whore! Brotherfucker!" Niether Bruce or his uncle saw who threw the cow shit. But he heard the gasp and his brother hit the street floor. Joffery rose immediately and some of the gold cloaks shrank back from the crowd as the crowd began to loom further forward.

"Who threw that?" Joffrey screamed. He pushed his fingers into his hair, made a furious face, and flung away a handful of dung. "I want the man who threw that!" he shouted. Obedient, Sandor Clegane swung down from his saddle, but there was no way through that wall of closest to him began to squirm and shove to get away, while others pushed forward to see.

"I want him!" Joffrey pointed at the crowd. "Dog, cut through them and bring-" A tumult of sound drowned his last words, a rolling thunder of rage and fear that engulfed them from all sides. "Bastard!" someone screamed at Joffrey, "bastard monster." Other voices flung calls of "Whore" and "Brotherfucker" at the queen, while Tyrion was pelted with shouts of "Freak" and "Halfman." Mixed in with the abuse, he heard a few cries of "Justice" and "Robb, King Robb, the Young Wolf," and even "Renly!"

From a roof top a loud voice boomed out above them, "No! Bruce! The true king." They all looked up and saw a scabby faced, large, bald man. His hands were caked in crap. All the others were soon silenced by their calls for any of the others and joined in this cry. "Bruce! Bruce! The Young Lion!" The gold cloak's guard began to faulter and another man broke through them. "Kill the bastard king and his brother!" he shouted and ran for Prince Tommen.

The man grabbed for Tommen's reigns and yanked them down. The horse reared and flung Tommen away from his saddle. Ser Arys pulled out his sword and cut down the man before he could make another go of Tommen. Two more men made for the young prince pushing back the gold cloaks. As they stormed to his brother Bruce thundered toward them and ran them down, his horses hooves trampling their skulls and making bloody work of their assassination attempt. He then reached down from his horse and yanked his little brother up to him and placed him on the front of Bruce's own horse.

The entire crowd now surged forward. "Feed us!" a woman shrieked. "Bread!" boomed a man behind her. "We want bread, bastard!" In a heartbeat, a thousand voices took up the chant. King Joffrey and King Robb and King Bruce were forgotten, and King Bread ruled alone. "Bread," they clamored. "Bread, bread!" The gold cloaks now swung and slashed with their spears. Bruce drew his sword. "To the Keep!" he bellowed and motioned for everyone to rally on him.

Tyrion spurred to his sister's side, yelling, "Back to the castle. Now!" The queen gave a nod. Ahead of the column, Drake Rykker was roaring commands. His riders lowered their lances and drove forward in a wedge. The king was pushed back onto his horse by the Hound, who swatted at the crowd as they came at the king in droves. Hands reached past the line of gold cloaks, grasping for him. One managed to get hold of his leg, but only for an instant. Bruce galloped to him and his sword slashed down, parting hand from wrist. "Ride!" Tyrion shouted at the king as he rode behind Bruce, giving Joff's horse a sharp slap on the rump. The animal reared and plunged ahead.

Bruce forced his horse into the crowd as they began to bock them off. Kingsguard and mounted gold cloak alike rallyed to him as he drove hard into the rioters. Tyrion and the others fell in behind them as they pressed open the gap. Blood sprayed everywhere as they slashed down at those that reached up to them.

Suddenly the chaos was behind and they were clattering across the cobbled square that fronted the Red Keep. A line of spears and shields held the gates. Rykker was wheeling his lances around for another charge. The spears parted to let the king's party pass under the portcullis. The walls were lined with archers and crossbowmen, their weapons facing out over the city. Bruce looked up and saw Kyle Caswell at their command his arm raised ready for the order to be given by Bruce. Bruce did not leave his horse until he was sure Tommen was alright. The boy was shaking like a shitting dog, eyes full of tears and cheeks marked with blood and grey matter. His thick hands clung to the mane of Bruce's horse and only with calming voice of his elder brother sotthed him enough to realse. Bruce took his brother and searched for their mother.

The queen and Ser Lancel rode through the gates with Ser Meryn and Ser Boros close behind. Boros had blood smeared along his blade, while Meryn's white cloak had been torn from him. The queen spied her sons from her horse and all but fell from it as she clamoured toward them. She wrapped her arms around her cubs began to weep. She placed a kiss on Bruce's head and pulled back. Before she could say anything Bruce handed over Tommen. "Take him inside." he ordered. His mother nodded and planted another kiss on his face and turned to move inside the Red Keep. The prince ordered Ser Boros to escort them. He obeyed, knowing better to disobey the prince now his blood was up.

He pushed his way across the yard to where his uncle was. Tyrion asked his nephew of Tommen. "Fine." Bruce replied and asked if the same could be said of the dwarf. People could be heard shouting after each other. Balon Swann stammered out a tale of seeing the High Septon spurred away from his litter, screeching prayers as the crowd swept over him. Ser Arys Oakheart said he thought he'd seen Ser Preston Greenfield of the Kingsguard riding back toward the High Septon, but he was not certain.

The squawking of the king could be heard across the yard. The prince and his uncle's eyes locked in abstarct rage and brazen furry. Both marched across to Joffery. "Traitors," he babbled, "I'll have all their heads, I'll-" he stopped when caught the sight of his of his brother thundering at him. Bruce's forehead cracked against Joffery's nose. The dwarf slapped his flushed face so hard the crown flew from Joffrey's head. Then he shoved him with both hands and knocked him sprawling. They would brain what ever sense was left in him now. "You blind bloody fool!" shouted Tyrion. "They were traitors," Joffrey squealed from the ground. "They called me names and attacked me!" Bruce stomped on his brother's foot, "You set your dog on them! What did you imagine they would do, bend the knee meekly while the Hound lopped off some limbs?"

When he rose again Tyrion slapped his oldest nephew busting his lip. "You spoiled witless little boy, you've killed Clegane and gods know how many more, and yet you come through unscratched. Damn you!" And he kicked him. "Your talking to a king!" Joffery wailed and would have gone on had Tyrion brought his fist against the king's head and Bruce his foot on the king's crown jewels. "And now we've struck a king!" Tyrion raged, "Or did my fist simply fall from my arm!"

"My Lords!" a voice called from the walls. Bruce looked up and saw Caswell calling for them. "Come!" Tyrion ordered, "To the wall." Bruce delivered another kick to his brother and turned from him to follow his uncle. Bronn, Rykker, Tyrion's men and Ser's, Meryn and Arys fell in behind them as they climbed up the stairs to the top of the wall. When they reached the top of the wall Caswell was paniced as he pointed out across the wall. "My lords, there's smoke in the city. Flea Bottom's going up in flame." Tyrion peaked across the stone walls barley able to see over. "Bronn, take as many men as you need and see that the water wagons are not destroyed. We can Flea Bottom if we must, do not let the fire reach the alchemists."Bruce's throat tightened. Seven Hells the wildfire! That would lay King's Landing low. Tyrion then adressed Ser Meryn. "Take a hundred men into the city. Command the people to return to their homes. Any man found on the streets after dark will be executed." The kingsguard's face turned south. "I take my orders from the king, imp." he spat.

Whatever little restraint or paitience the prince had left vanished. The back of his hand swept over Ser Meryn's face and then grasped his throat and hauled him to his knees. Bruce's voice was like something he had never heard before. "_Any more disobedience from you! And I'll split your fucking head in half!_" He then pushed knight away from him. Meryn scrambled back down the steps like a mad bat. The entire castle for definate had heard his rage against the white knight if not then the entire city, for now all was near silence and looked at the prince atop the wall.

Tyrion broke the silence seemingly unfazed by his nephew's wroth. "What of the Stark girl?" Ser Arys stepped forward. "She was beside the king and then I saw riding beside me, but I lost her when we took flight." Bruce let out a sigh and turned to face out at the city. If Sansa Stark had come to harm, his uncle Jaime was as good as dead. "Take some men and find the girl then." Tyrion told Oakheart. "No need My Lord. Look!" said Kyle Caswell, pointing down into the square that lay out side the keep. Sandor Clegane strode broadly through the square to the castle, over dead bodies and slashing at a few peseants that remained in the square fool enough to try him. Sansa Stark thrown over his shoulder her clothes visibly torn. "Go see if she is alright, Kyle." barked out Bruce. The Reachmen did as he was bid.

Put his back to the city and sank down the wall. He threw off his lion skin and let out a long sigh. Tyrion still looked grimly out at the city. "We're still here." he reminded his nephew. The prince shrugged and rubbed his tired eyes. "For how long. If we can scarcley hold off the Smallfolk how are we to fare against Renly." The king's Hand placed an arm around Bruce's shoulder. "Next time, we'll be ready." Bruce tried to take comfort in the statement but found he could not shake the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. "Take heart." Tyrion said finally releasing him and wadled away from Bruce.

"Whose?" asked the Prince darkly, casting a look down into the courtyard and saw Joffery being led away into the keep. He could think of a very tempting choice.


	31. Cersei II

**MrUnclePeanuts**: You sir are a flatterer and it really makes writing worth while when people comment such things about my work. As for such a character as cannon it would make for a more interesting story but knowing GRRM he would have had him killed off almost immediately.

**DannyMcDingles****:** See 'Cersei I' for the change to Ser Mandon. And thank you.

**Archagel9418****: **As much as I'm sure he'd like to Tyrion and Cersei would never allow it and if they did he tell them to shove it.

**jrnmmrtns:** Spoilers ;D

**SimFlyer****:**Thank you

**Naruhina1519****: ** You do me a great honour with such a title

**Master of Dragons God****:** Danka

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><p><strong><span>Cersei<span>**

The Lords of the Small Council assembled around the long table in the center of the room. All the chairs from the room had been outed to allow more room. At the head of the table Cersei saw her son stood scouring over maps, lists and other pieces of parchment that carpeted the wood suface. Bruce's long hair hung over his face and every couple of moments he would run a hand through it. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to his shoulders as his fingers traced over the lines of dry ink. He totally ignored them all as they trickled in one by one. Cersei nervously stood beside her brother, who was calm and collected as ever.

When the final one to join them, Lord Varys, arrived Tyrion saw fit to begin the meeting. "Renly Baratheon is marching out of the kingswood as we speak." the eunuch informed them. Cersei shared a glance with her brother. They had expected Renly to be close but not that near to the capital. "How long do we have till he is here?" the imp asked the spider, his calm aura suddenly faultering. Varys shrugged, "Perhaps a day." Lord Baelish leaned against the table and placed his hand on one of the maps. "And what plan has our Master-at-Arms come up with to defeat this usuper?" he asked. Bruce ignored him for a moment before he suddenly brought his hand down on one of the maps. "River Gate." he said not moving his eyes from the map.

This peaked Tyrion's intrest. The imp wadled over to his nephew and pulled the map from the table to look at. "Your sure?" asked the Hand, his voice lacking confidence. Bruce nodded his head firmly, "With the wood at his back and the river in front he has a good place to rally. If he means to cross further down we'll take him in the flanks as he crosses and it will take him too long to take the city. If he moves over the river and staight for us he bet we can't hit anywhere as side from the front." Cersei now glided forward to her son. "Do you think he will try to starve us out?" He shook his head and moved for a map of the Crownlands. "Last week grandfather bloodied the River Lords at Red Fork. His foot still has the river but he has pulled his cavalry round and rides for King's Landing. If Renly wants to starve us out grandfather will batter him blooy against the forest while we hold him against the river."

"Will Lord Tywin be here in time to save us if Renly break you at the gate?" Littlefinger questioned. "He'll have to beat us on the river first." stated Bruce. "He has fifty thousand men." Baelish reminded the prince. Bruce knawed at his lip and pointed to the map. "A raven reported that my grandfather was last at Sow's Horn." Littlefinger snorted, "So he'll be here in time to see our heads meet the spikes." Cersei rounded on the master-of-coin, "Then perhaps you should make sure he doesn't, Baelish." Tyrion also reared his head to the new Lord of Harrenhall, "I agree. Take ten riders and find my father on the kingsroad. Return without him and we'll see that yours is the first head to meet the spike." The ever sniveling Baelish saught no argument. Every man wanted out of the city, they'd just given him free reign to.

Before he took his leave Lord Baelish gave a final question to the prince. "And what horse am I to ride with? It appears since the city riots all the horses have disappeared." Cersei also looked to her son for answers, she had assumed it had been Tyrion's work. "Old Gate." The prince answered, "The stable master there still has one or two mares he was unwilling to part with. I'm sur you can convince him other wise." Littlefinger raised an eye brow at that, bowed and left, leaving only the lannisters and the spider.

"My little birds have also informed me that Catelyn Tully rides with Renly as an envoy of her son." reported Varys. "Do your little birds know why?" asked Cersei of the eunuch. He shook his head, "It could be that she is negotiating an alliance or she wants to secure the saftey of her daughters, should the city fall." Cersei nodded and turned to her son. "What other plans do we have?" Bruce shrugged, "Hold them at the gate. One of us will give eventually." Cersei's lips tightened. Such a plan did not seem very reasuring. She silently hoped he had a few tricks up his sleeve, no doubt her brother would for certain.

After that Cersei found she had little stomach left for whatever state affairs remained unsolved and so dismissed the meeting of the council. No doubt Tyrion would already have a plot ready to solve the greevances of the realm. Cersei made her way to her chambers. As she entered she was greeted by the sight of her cousin Lancel. "You Grace," he bowed, "I bring news of Lady Sansa." Cersei sighed, she had better things to think of than that girl. "What of her?" she asked the knight. "One of her maids told me she has bled." 'Poor girl.' thought Cersei. "Bring her here, Lancel." she ordered him.

After he left Cersei ordered for food to be brought up to her. She had only eaten on the morning and now as the sun began to tilt toward the west she found her hunger brewing. Her handmaidens brought up beef, varying vegetables, milk, boiled eggs, and crisp fried fish. Just as Cersei began to feast Sansa Stark was ushered into the room. "You may sit," the queen said graciously. "Are you hungry?" The childs already paled face turned and even whiter shade that began to match the milk Cersei supped at. "No, thank you, Your Grace." Cersei smiled as the girl sat opposite her, "I don't blame you. No doubt you find yourself with little appetite now." Sansa lowered her head. "The blood frightened me."

"Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You've had your first flowering, no more. It is a sign you are now a woman." The girl looked to be on the edge of tears. "My mother told me, but I... I thought it would be different." Sansa told the queen. "Different how?" Cersei asked cocking her head to one side. "I don't know. Less..." Sansa began to struggle, "Less messy." Cersei laughed. "Wait until you birth a child, Sansa. Little can compare to such a mess as that." She took a sip of milk. "So now you are a woman. Do you have the least idea of what that means?" "It means that I am now fit to be wedded," said Sansa, "and to bear children for the king."

Cersei gave the girl a pitying smile, "A prospect that no longer entices you as it once did. I will not fault you for that. Joffrey has always been difficult. Even his birth... I labored a day and a half to bring him into the world. You cannot imagine the pain, Sansa. I screamed so loud that I thought Robert might hear me in the kingswood." That took Sansa off guard, "His Grace was not with you?" Cersei smiled, "Robert was hunting. That was his custom. Whenever my time was near, my royal husband would flee to the trees with his huntsmen and hounds. When he returned he would present me with some pelts or a stag's head, and I would present him with a baby. And only once did he ever look glad for his child."

"Prince Bruce?" Sansa offered. Perhaps the girl wasn't as dim witted as she seemed to be. "Yes, Bruce." Cersei swallowed thickly as she thought back to his birth. "In three days he will be ten and five years." she said smiling, "When I saw Robert see his black hair he looked as though his heart would burst. The first two nights after he saw him he slept in the same room as his son." Cersei smiled at that. 'Half as many as he slept with me.' she thought. "Joffrey will show you and your childeren no such devotion, I fear. You could thank your sister for that, if she hadn't gotten Bruce riled up perhaps you wouldn't be so mistreated." Sansa looked taken aback by this. "The prince was only trying to protect Arya." she said. Cersei snorted, "Of course, but she should have known better to attack Joffery." The stark girl had no reply to that.

"You're stronger than you seem, though. I expect you'll survive a bit of humiliation. I did. You may never love the king, but you'll love his children." "I love His Grace with all my heart," Sansa said. Cersei shook her head at that, "I would advise you to find better lies to tell." Cersei moved hand over the table and squeezed Sansa's hand, "Permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love no one but your childeren. Love is poison. A sweet poison, but it will kill you all the same." The Stark girl nodded at that. "Will I be allowed to go home to Winterfell after the war, Your Grace?" she asked. Cersei frowned, "Have you not heard? The Greyjoys sacked Winterfell." Sansa began to cry after that. "Wh... What of m... my brothers." she stammered out between sobs. Cersei crossed the table to the weeping girl. "Dead."


	32. The Battle for King's Landing Part 1

**Fear:** Do stick around for the rest of the story, dear fellow. Big changes will come in A Storm of Swords

**DannyMcDingles****: **I'll keep writing it if you keep loving it

**Naruhina1519****: **Alas we shall have to wait and see

**Archagel9418****: **so many question. Unfortunate I'm to lazy to answer them

**Master of Dragons God****: **Sorry for the wait

**ZabuzasGirl****: **It takes along time to decide the best of five drafts, hope this is immediate enough

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><p><strong><span>The Battle of King's Landing Part 1<span>**

On the third toll of the bell the battle of King's Landing began. It started at dawn, the rising sun casting light on the army of Renly Baratheon as they assembled on the edge of the hill south of the Blackwater Rush. Stags of Storm's End and Roses of Highgarden flew from pikes held high in the air.

Inside the Red Keep the Lords, men-at-arms and kingsguard assembled to take to the wall. The streets of the city were filled with gold cloaks and odd few hundred sellswords making for the River Gate. Lining the thick stone walls and two hundred year old battlements half a dozen trebuchets with boulders, casks of old bricks and even up rooted trees from around the city being armed and loaded into them.

Outside Maegor's holdfast Sansa stood awaiting the presents of the king. Beside her was her new handmaiden, Shae. Ser Meryn Trant held the king's mount for him as he clambered on it. Both the boy and horse were clad in gilded mail and crimson plate, with matching golden lions on their heads. The pale sunlight flashed off the gold and red every time Joff moved.

The king's uncle the Imp was less austentatious than Joffery. A darker red plate and the smaller lion's head helm to match his size, but none of intricate carvings that came attatched to the king. A vicious looking double headed battle axe was held in his right hand and a shield which on any other man wouldn't have been good enough to stand on, but it fit Lord Tyrion perfectly.

When Tyrion saw her he turned toward her way. "Lady Sansa," he called as he wadled his way toward her, "surely my sister has asked you to join the other highborn ladies in Maegor's?" Sansa met the dwarf half way, "She has, my lord, but King Joffrey sent for me to see him off." At that moment the king began to approach his betrothed, calling out to her as he came from atop his horse. "He has always been a good romantic, has old Joff." said the imp. "I will pray for your return, my Lord." replied Sansa. The Hand of the King was taken back by the comment, and smiled as his nephew drew closer. "Save them for my nephew. He should need them more than I will."

The Stark girl turned from the little lion toward her betrothed. Joffery drew his sword and for a moment Sansa was afraid he may use it against her. "My new blade, Hearteater." Sansa recalled the king's previous sword, Lion's Tooth, she also recalled what Joffery was like when his brother crossed his own sword with it on the Trident. "Bless my steel with a kiss." He extended the blade down to her. "Go on, kiss it." Sansa touched her lips to the metal, thinking that she would kiss any number of swords sooner than Joffrey. "You'll kiss it again when I return, and taste my uncle's blood."

"Will you lead your knights into battle?" Sansa asked, hoping"They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest." That made him frown. "I'll deal with your brother after I'm done with my traitor uncle Renly. I'll gut him with Hearteater, you'll see." He wheeled his horse about and spurred toward the gate.

The great wooden doors to Maegor's Holdfast open with boom and the creaking of ancient wood. Out of it marched marched the architech of the cities defence, Prince Bruce. His armour glittered in the morning sun. Silver streaks flashed all around. The crowned stag on his chest shone out like the sun. The lions that guarded his shoulders looked fierce with their teeth beared. His lions helm hung underneath his arm, the two large antlers that stretched out from it looked to have been sharpened to a point.

Behind the prince a group of men-at-arms marched. At their head was the one they called the Butcher. His armour was of black iron that looked like he was covered in soot. Two curved bull horns curved round from his ears to infront of his jaw. A huge meat cleaver was held in one hand and a long greataxe in the other. The men he led were in the basic red enambled steel all the Lannister's soldiers wore.

The prince strode out to his uncle who was mounting his horse with help of his squire, Podrick Payne. "Ready?" Bruce asked Tyrion. The imp gave a shrug from atop his horse, "As I'll ever be. What of you?" The young lion ignored the slow tightening in his gut. "Fine." Tyrion didn't need to believe what he said, while his nephew's face was of his famous stony guard that defeated most, his eyes would always betray his feelings to his favourite uncle.

As Bruce began to take his mount there was a crashing from the the castle and out ran young prince Tommen. "Wait! Wait!" He called after his brother. "I want to go with you!" said the little prince when he reached his brother. After the prince thundered out the queen. "Tommen! Tommen come back here!" she screached. For the first time in his life the youngest of all three sons of Cersei Lannister ignored his mother. He wrapped his beefy arms around Bruce and clung to him for life. "I want to go with you. Please." he begged. A smile creeped up Bruce's face and he hugged back. Pushing back his brother, he forced him to look up. "A battlefield is no place for one so young." he told him. Tommen looked as though he would cry at that. "But I can fight." Tommen insisted.

Bruce smiled, "I know you can," He pushed Tommen back further and drew his sword, "I knight you, Ser Tommen Baratheon and task you as defender of the Red Keep, in abscence of the king." Bruce moved the sword from one of his brother's shoulders to the other. Tommen grinned up at his big brother, a very similar smile to the one their uncle Jaime was so fond of. Bruce removed the helmet off of one of the men-at-arms, and placed it on Tommn's head. The helm snuck over his eyes and covered his chin completely, but the lad didn't care. He hugged his brother tightly for a final time. By this time their mother had crossed the yard and adressed her youngest. "Tommen, time to go in side now." she said sternly.

Tommen turned from his brother and charged back into the castle. Cersei took a step to her second son. "Keep him safe." he ordered his mother. She nodded, "I should be saying the same of you." she said and reached hand out to brush against the hair on the side of his face. "Come back to me." His hand went up to her's and pulled it away, "I will, mother." With that he turned from her and mounted his horse.

At the River Gate the defenders of the city assembled. Five hundred archers, under the command of Kyle Caswell, filed out of the gate to the positions in the harbour. They would hold up Renly's army for as long as they could. Bleeding as much of his men for what they were worth. Bruce had told them they could not retreat until the Blackwater ran red with blood of the Reach and Stormlands. The walls of the city were lined with crossbowmen and the remaining archers, near two thousand strong, they were backed up by the rawest recruits of the City Watch these five hundred would throw back the men who sought to take the walls in Renly's name. Dozens of groups were being organised by the gate. Either a captain of the City Watch or a knight of the kingsguard headed the groups of five hundred who would lead sorties against the enemy. A reserve of two hundered was kept, it numbered all of Tyrion's tribesmen lead by Crag the Butcher.

When Tyrion and Bruce galloped down the street to the gate they were met by the king. "When do we sally out to meet them?" Joffery demanded his new armour making feel invincible. "_We_ don't." said Bruce, "You will hold the gatehouse and command the firing of the trebuchets." Joffery seemed to light up with this. Raining death from above and well out harms way was very his speed.

As they climbed toward the top of the wall facing the usurper's army Tyrion turned to his nephew. "Forgive me if I am wrong," he started, "But I was under the impression we had more men than this, Bruce." He seemed unfazed by the imp's question. "One thousand men will hold the Red Keep should we fail here." he assured the Hand of the King.

"How long will it take for Renly to build his siege engines?" Tyrion asked as they continued to climb the steps. "That depends," replied the prince but as soon as he reached the top of the wall any answer he might of continued with went unsaid as the two Lannisters gazed over the river.

Catapults of hard oak banded together with wrought iron were being lumbered into position. Songs and battle-cries rang out in the air from men loyal to the one they now called king. Fifty thousand men in steel, bristling with spears, sword, shields and axes. Armoured kights bearing roses and stags clopped along the shoreline, allowing their horses water in arogant defiance of the odd few arrows from the archers that began to sail at them. It all made for a most tremendous and troubling sight.

The imp shared a look with the lion at the seen before them. This battle would be hard fought and even harder won. "Any news of grandfather?" Bruce asked his uncle fleetingly. Tyrion shook his head meekly and looked out to the Blackwater. He saw a group of riders coming down from hill upon which the besiegers assembled. Tyrion could make out seven riders in total coming down toward the waterfront. Baratheon standards flew from two riders that flanked the group. "What are they doing?" the imp asked his nephew. Bruce flashed his uncle a grin. "He wants to treat with us."

In a matter of moments Tyrion and Bruce had assembled a party to meet the king across the river. Robert Waters, he held the kings banner and led the party as they galloped down toward Renly. Tyrion rode beside his nephew behind the banner, acting as their guard came Bronn, Sandor Clegane and Ser Boros. The quarter would be swift and defiant.

When Renly saw which nephew had come to meet his audiance he realised how serious the situation would be. He'd had his squires fit him in his best armour, a suit of enameled green armor with a stags head helm that had a pair of golden antlers. He looked every part the warrior king. Beside him was his soon to be Hand, Ser Courtnay Penrose and two of his kings guard, his lover Ser Loras, and most faithfull sword Brienne of Tarth. Both boar their king's standard from lofty pikes in their full battle the king, acting as representetive of the King in the North, Lady Catelyn Stark and her bodyguard, Ser Roddrick. Lady Stark wore a simple white and grey garb to match the colour of the house she served.

The party representing King Joffery settled in a line in front. Thery had to almost shout across the fast flowwing river for the other side to hear what was being said. "Uncle." greeted Bruce from atop his horse, his stony expression making him look remarably like his uncle Stannis. "Sweet Bruce!" exclaimed the pretender king, "My you've grown." Bruce seemed unfazed. King Renly then looked to the imp, "Alas, I fear the same cannot be said for you, dwarf." Tyrion's eyes narrowed and he forced a smile. "Indeed it is a great tradgedy. However, I do compensate for it in 'other' places." He then spotted Lady Stark, "You look as ravishing as since we last met, Lady Catelyn." The Tully's mouth tightened but she did not respond, so Renly took up the conversation on her behalf.

"I trust you both have great authority in that rout of yours across the river to come treat with me on it's behalf." Bruce's horse gave a whinny and pawed at the ground as it's master replied relpied, "We have not come to treat with Renly the Boyfucker and his army of man-whores." From beside his king Ser Loras's hand tightened around his sword. Tyrion continued his nephew's point, "This is your final warning. Disband your army and King Joffery will show mercy, you and your men will be sent to the Wall and spend the rest of your days serving the realm with honour." Ser Loras let out a snort, "Ned Stark was promised the same and your king mounted his head on a spike. Are we to expect the same?"

"Joffery will show you greater mery than you would find from me on the battlefield." warned the prince his eyes flashing with the memory of the Tourney of the Hand. "Come now, sers. We are not here to threaten one another. We are he to discuss terms." reminded Lady Catelyn. "I quite agree, Lady Stark." said Renly, "Stand you and your men down, Bruce." he said, "Do that and I promise to make you my heir until I have a son by Margaery." Bruce let out a laugh, "Forgive me uncle, but unless you plan on being king of the Kingswood, I think what you want is _all_ the way over there." said the prince gesticulating to the Red Keep from over the walls of King's Landing, "And I have nine thousand men who will try and stop you getting it... And the river... And the walls... And wildfire." Loras let out a snort, "Wildfire. You think burning pig shit will stop us!" Bruce shrugged, "I would shove my sword up your arse, Ser Loras but I fear you would only enjoy it."

The Tyrell Loras drew his sword in reply and meant to make a go of Bruce but Renly stopped him. "You will not reconsider? Even if I were to give you what ever you asked for. Either of you." The two Lannisters shared a look. Bruce was of a more open look but when Tyrion saw it and shook his head firmly at his nephew he nodded in reply. Bruce stepped down from his horse and stepped right to the edge of the water and began to unbuckle his armour.

When his nephew began to make water into the river in front of him, Renly was not sure how to respond. Either complement him on his weapon of choice, laugh like he would have if it had been the boys father or tut distainfully at the display as Ser Loras and Lady Stark did. Bruce shook himself off into the Blackwater, bowed and turned back to his horse.

Just before the party representing the defenders of King's Landing departed the imp called across the river one final time, "This concludes negotiations." was the last thing said as they cantered off back to the city.


	33. Battle of King's Landing Part 2

**Archagel9418**

**Silver crow:** Hope you enjoy the total annihilation

**DannyMcDingles****: ** It was a bitch to think up was that line but once it was there I nearly pissed myself laughing.

**Master of Dragons God**: I hope this one is too

**Naruhina1519**: Soon enough? ;)

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><p><strong><span>The Battle of King's Landing Part 2<span>**

Renly's catapults began to fire around midday. Their heavy stone boulders pounding against the walls of the city. Volley after volley was flung against the city and were continuously rejected by the thick stone walls. The trebuchets manned by the City Watch matched them blow for blow. Aside from this back and forth of hammering each other with rocks little else took place. A small band of Renly's archers tried to skirmish with the defenders of the harbour, but most were cut down by Caswell's longbows. Joffery attempted to take force out to ride them down but once Tyrion had informed him there were no horses he decided that it wouldn't be worth the walk.

So when the first warhorn of the day rang out from the otherside of the river, Tyrion felt as though his stomach was doing a jig inside him. Tyrion wadled all the way up to the top of the wall with Bronn at his side. In truth he was suprised it had taken Renly this long to begin his attack, though he was glad for the delay none the less. Tyrion looked out at Baratheon's army. Fully plated and heavily armed they formed their ranks for the assault.

Beside Tyrion was his nephews both looking complete opposites. Joffery shinning in gold and red armour sword at the ready. His face was picture painted full of glee at the up and coming battle in which, according to no one but himself, he would personally slay both his cowardly uncle Renly, the noble Kinght of Flowers and fiercesome Randyll Tarly. Bruce couldn't have looked more different, glowing in silver as he scowled out at Baratheon's army in sullen silence, his eyes flicking from one part of it to the other as he began to sure up a firmer plan of the battle.

A second war horn gave a shout across the river and the bristling lines of steel began to advance toward the river. At least two thousand men came in the first attack. Stags of Storm's End emblazoned on the shields and armour of the men as they came down the hill. Dozens of arrows were launched at the attackers as they approached the opposite side of the harbour. With the besiegers came near a dozen makeshift rafts which, once at the waterfront, the wave of two thousand began to pile onto and row across the river.

The archers in the harbour cut down dozens as they came slowly across the fast flowing river. Some were swept up in the current or the more flimsy rafts were capsized by the on rushing water and drowned as the men riding them were pulled beneath the surface, the weight of their armour dragging them down. All the while the marshal of King's Landing's forces stood in silence, watching, waiting, observing.

Tyrion regonized this style of waging a battle, it was the trademark of Tywin Lannister. Bruce had spent five years under the wing of Tyrion's father and Tyrion was begining to be greatful his nephew had listened to the Lord of The Rock's teachings on the art of war. As the ever thining two thousand began to approach the shore line of the river, another much larger wave decended from the top of the hill which the usurper king sat upon.

When Bruce saw this new wave of arrow fodder he sprang into action. He stalked away from the ramparts and toward the edge of the wall and barked down to the men ready to sally out in defense of the city. "Clegane," shouted the Master-at-Arms, "Assemble a welcoming party for our friends across the river! Take them into the harbour and give the usurpers a taste of steel!" The Hound dorned his snarling dog helm and rallied his men, the last five hundred and most poorly trained of the City Watch who only entered service upon the promise of saftey from the King's Landing mobs. The River Gate opened as Sandor led his men out of the city. "If any man dies with a clean sword I'll rip his balls off in all seven hells!" threatened the Hound.

The half starved and deathly thin and frightened gold cloaks charged down into the harbour and met the few haggard and wet men that began to arrive on the opposite side of the river unscathed. Spears thrust and swords slashed into men as the grulling melee began. Caswell's archers continiued to rain arrows down on the besiegers.

As the second wave began to enter the river on their rafts, Bruce ordered the archers that remained on top of the wall to begin to rain fire upon the opposite bank. The arrows struck into the mob as they waded into the river and felled many of them in striking precision. The steel armour and leather padding of many of the attackers struck alight and ran wild with flames dancing all around them. Many plunged themselves into the river to dowse the fires that burned them up but scarce few ever resurfaced again.

As another wave of two thousand decended the hill opposite, roses of The Reach on their shields and chests. In retaliation the prince had the trebuchets commence firing their loads into Renly's army. The huge counter weights dropped and the long arms of the siege engines flung their loads onto the opposite side of the river. The boulders crashed into the the third wave cruching dozens of Highgarden soldiers and then skipping up the hill into those that still remained on the hill.

The king's younger brother adressed him, "Go to your post. Take command of the trebuchets now and be sure to thin them out as much as possible." Joffery's face lit up in glee and he all but pranced to the gatehouse from where he would order the artillery. This left Tyrion and Bruce alone as their eyes scouted out the progress of the harbour's defenders. The Hound and his untrained sword fodder, despite their greeness, were making bloody work of Renly's highly disiplined soldiers as they tried to scramble up the harbour. Half were wet and sodden with arrows that they tried to shrug off before being impaled upon a spear. The others were too haggard and worn out to provide a good fight for Clegane's men and were beaten down by shields and spear points or trampled under the feet of new arrivals who wadded ashore.

It soon became apparent that the few who still lived that this attack was failing. They rushed back down the beach and clambered over the arrow striken dead who began to be brushed up on the river line. They fought each other over a raft to escape on with greater feavour than they gave to the City Watch. This assault on the harbour fast became a rout of the ruined and craven, a massacare of Stormlander and Reachmen. It did not take long for others to take to this rout as those who began to wade into the Blackwater or were halfway across started to turn their rafts and flee to the otherside of the river bank and toward their king, tails stuck firmly between their legs.

Tyrion looked to his nephew with a faint look of relief on his face. Bruce's face was still of his stone like guard as his eyes searched the crest of the hill. 'Who are you looking for, Bruce?' Tyrion thought as he cast a quick look to where his nephew was looking. The Hand of the King then turned back to his nephew, "We've thrown them back." he stated. Bruce nodded his eyes narrowing. "For now."

The sky had now truly darkened as the fourth attack by Renly Baratheon was driven out of the harbour. Each wave had grown steadily larger than the last, with more men following the group that preceeded them. The sun had disappeared amidst a the western horizon and the large black rainclouds had decended, blocking out the silver moonlight. The fourth wave had been a close run thing indeed. The trebuchets were having to concern their loads. The archers atop the walls had to have their quivers refilled twice, neither Bruce nor Tyrion scarced to imagine how many bowmen in the harbour still had their bows. It had taken the waves of Ser Boros, Bronn and Meryn Trant to help throw back the four attempt to take the harbour. Of the ten thousand defenders of the city at least three thousand had been sent down in the whole day to keep the harbour under Lannister control. None dared imagine exactly how many were still alive of those who had been sent to throw back Baratheon's assault.

The dead of the attackers littered the narrow streets of the harbour. Corpses were strewn across piers and hung out from windows limp and lifeless as crows and other carrion pecked at them, tearing away flesh and ripping out eyes. The flimsy wooden watercrafts had become capsized, bloodied and were thick with dead and dying as they washed up on the shoreline and began to clog the waterways. Tyrion looked upon the field with both sorrow and relief. Each time one of Renly's soldier's boots set foot on his side of the river he felt his stomach twist and lurch as hundreds more followed in that man's footsteps.

The Hand of the King glanced all around the walls for his nephew's. With every new assault Bruce would pace up and down the wall past each and every archer, feeding them encouragement and spotting fresh targets, while he blazed alight in calm fury and collected eagerness at the oncoming attack. When Tyrion saw his nephew approach him ending his current bout of pacing he knew he was not happy by the scowl he wore.

Bruce stopped where Tyrion stood and looked out over the field, his scowl deepening and scarlett cloak rippling in the wind. The dwarf had always been able to tell when something was bothering Bruce and how bad an effect it was having on him. He also knew exactly how to handle times such as this. Keep your mouth shut and listen.

Throaty growls rippled from the young lion's throat. "Damn him." he said finally. Tyrion, despite how eager to learn what was wrong, held his tounge. "Damn him," he repeated, "Why doesn't he break?!" Tyrion wasn't sure if the question was rhetorical or not. His nephew gave his head a firm shake and said a final, "Damn him."

From down the ways of the wall near the gatehouse someone shouted for Tyrion and Bruce, "M'Lords! A runner from the harbour!" Tyrion saw the flash in his nephew's eyes as he stalked down to the gatehouse. The Imp followed as fast as his stunted legs would permit him to keep up. As soon as he reached the gatehouse Bruce barked down at the heavily bloodied messenger, "What is it?!" Streaked with blood and dirt the gold cloak barked back up, "Ser Kyle wants more arrows and men!" Bruce sighed and rubbed his face, "How many men have you left?" The gold cloaked gave a few pants and rugged breaths before he answered, "'Bout a thousand!" Bruce sighed again and ran a hand threw his hair and cast a look over to the harbour and then to Renly's army.

"Tell Caswell to pull his archers back up here. Have Clegane lay an ambush along the shoreline." Bruce shouted down to the City Watchman, his eyes never shiftingfrom his uncle's forces as they marshaled for another go of the harbour. Bruce move back and shouted to where the sorties sat waiting, "Ser Lancel! Crag! Oakheart!" all men stood to attention. The butcher's face hidden behind his soot black helmet, Lancel's face was draining of colour fast turning milk white, the Kingsguard face has the same comely look it always had. "Take all your men into the harbour and set up an ambush for the next assault!" ordered the prince.

Tyrion's tribesmen let out loud roars as they followed Crag out of the River Gate. Ser Lancel and his hired sellswords were calmer as they filed out the gate behing the wildmen. Oakheart had command of few five hundered proffesional soldiers left in the capital, all had polished steel plate and heavy ironwood shields.

Bruce watched atop the wall as they filed out of King's Landing to the harbour. As the Vale tribesmen began to enter the battered harbour Renly's catapults renwed their bombardment. The heavy oak arms vaulted the stones onto the harbour, cutting through the flimsy wooden buildings as though they were paper. As this new onslaught began, Caswell and his archers began to run out from the harbour. Some of the archers were hurt badly with spabs and cuts across their legs and chest, few of them still had the fresh wooden longbows they had started the battle with, but all were coated in blood, be it their own or that of the dead.

Once the bloodied archers had re-entered King's Landing stretcher bearers and healers were brought forth for the wounded and hot food and drink for those that could still stand. Their leader, Caswell was perhaps the most bloodied. The yellow centaur that guarded his chest had turned more Lannister red than either Tyrion's or Joffery's armour could ever hope to be. Across his head stretched a large, shallow cut that leaked droplettes of blood. He turdged up the steps of the wall to where Bruce stood looking out upon his uncle's army, as they marshalled themselves again.

When the Reachmen was on the same footing as his lord he panted out through haggard breaths, "Your... Your orders... My Lord..." Bruce sniffed and took a long a while to reply. "How long to they throw themselves at us, do you think?" he asked the Reachmen, who was now drinking heavily from a skin some squire had handed him. "Soon." Caswell finally anwsered after he swallowed his mouthful. Bruce nodded and he looked out to Blackwater Bay, "Send word to _King Robert's Hammer_." he said to his captain, "Tell the captain to be on stand by and ready the wildfire. On the next wave he's to move up the Rush untill he runs aground."

"Aye, ser." was all the Reachmen said, before he staggered back down the wall. Tyrion now spoke up, "How do you intend to use the wildfire?" Bruce turned to answer, but he was cut off by a series of loud thundering warhorns from across the river. UUUULLLLLAAAA! UUUUULLLLAAAA! UUUULLLLAAAA! Went the cries of the battle trumpets. The Lion and the Imp both now looked across the river. Reachmen and Stormlander banged their weapons on their shields in unison and they roared out curses and insults at the city as thirty thousand of them began to descend upon their foes.

Bruce barked out for all arhers to the wall and the vanguards to ready themselves. Tyrion wadled to the gatehouse and ordered all spare men to him. Joffery's trebuchets now seemed to almost irrelevant as their stones did nothing to hault the vast horde coming at them in droves, they had become bows and arrows against the lightning. Arrows from the wall continued to rain down from the sky, felling dozens of Renly's men but the others strode over their fallen comrades as though they were fallen flies.

They crashed into the water and began to clamber onto the flimsy rafts and began to row across the river. The harbour remained in a quiet that made Bruce smile. 'Make them all bleed, Clegane. All you're bloody good for is butcher's work.' he thought as the first feet began to hit the ground and run for cover from the arrows that sailed down from the wall.

A loud roar went out from inside the harbour and the clangour of steel erupted into the air. Shouts and curses were bellowed out as the trap was sprung. City Watchmen and Lannister men-at-arms carved and slashed at the men of Highgarden and Storm's End with great fury. Blood sprayed and limbs flew into the air as the soldiers of King Renly fought back as hundereds of the planted their boots on the ground. The streets became packed with spearmen and tribesmen who were steadily thining at the slaughter. Bitter and anrgy words were thrown all around in the melee. Lords brushed both shoulders and steel with the beggars and outcasts of sellswords and City Watch in the intense fighting. Sandor Clegane snarled and writhed as he split men in half like a butcher would some pig. Here and there wounded fell down by the wayside helpless as a new born babes, forced to watch as they became forgotten and subcame to their wounds or cry out in terror as they were finished off.

Bruce looked out to the Blackwater Bay and saw the pride of the Royal Fleet, the giant war galley _King Robert's Hammer_ breaking apart the waves of the ocean as it came about into the mouth of the Rush. The mighty ship waded up the river, it's four hundred oars spouting foam as it came. Renly's men began to buffer themselves across the water with greater presistance now once they caught sight of _Rob's Hammer_ coming straight at them. Bruce shouted a hault to the archers firing at the river as the ship forded up it. The galley thundered out it's warhorn back at the men who swore curses at it. TTTHHHAAARRRUUU! TTTHHHAAARRRUUU!

Suddenly, the war galley was on top of the harbour and it's ram cutting through both Renly's rafts and the long piers that lined the waters edge as though they were twigs. When snail trail of green followed the ship as it sped through the harbour, cutting Baratheon's army in two. Bruce spied the luminous green and gave the order to fire on the water again.

The archers lit their arrows and drew back the bows. The mighty war ship suddenly began to buffet to a still. Moving swiftly through the waters, with a much power as it could muster, _Rob's Hammer_ crashed against the banks of the river, the ironclad ram driving into the sand banks closest to the Stormlanders and Reachmen. The great war ship stood firm between the river and harbour as more green began to flow from it's rear.A few scattered arrows from the wall began to land in the now green flowing river.

Fire suddenly leapt from the river, and travelled up the length of the water turning all the unfortunates in it into charred remains. The fire then reached the ship and it exploded, melting the _Hammer's _valiant heart. The wildfire sent the mighty metal warlord, crashing down in sheets of flame. Lashing ropes and smashed timbersflew through the air in flaming wrecks, black smoke now billowing into the sky. Flaming men now scalded, half-blinded and agonized, staggered through leaping, hissing water towards the shore, falling helplessly down dead or dying. The massive explosion now caused a total a calm in the fighting. 'One ship for a city,' thought Bruce as he stood grimly staring out at the devisation, 'Almost seems worth it.' From out of the gatehouse came Joffery beaming like cat at the chaos below. Sensing his victory was apparent, led the chant of "_Rob's Hammer_!" with the men on top the wall who also seemed to think the battle now won.

The dim in the battle seemed to reverse instantaniously, as the invaders found new fevour at what had become of their comrade's who had still been in the river. Under this new pressure of mad men lunging with spears and flaming debris, the ill trained mob in the harbour begn to break. They took a quick flight, dropping their weapons and running from the harbour at break neck speed.

They ran through the gate, their wounded falling down haggard and gaunt. Some of the rable even tried to run back into the city, but the hundereds still yet to go out formed up to prevent their escape. Tyrion could still hear the sound of steel clanging from the harbour and without a word to Bruce clambered down to the yard. Not all of them hurt, and sellswords and gold cloaks enough to form a strong column. "Form up," he shouted as he leapt to the ground. The gate moved under the impact of another blow. "Who commands here? You're going out."

"No." A shadow detached itself from the shadow of the wall, to become a tall man in dark grey armor. Sandor Clegane wrenched off his helm with both hands and let it fall to the ground. The steel was scorched and dented, the left ear of the snarling hound sheared off. A gash above one eye had sent a wash of blood down across the Hound's old burn scars, masking half his face. "Yes." Tyrion faced him. Clegane's breath came ragged. "Eat shit dwarf." Tyrion narrowed his eyes, "Shall I bring you a nice iced milk and a bowl of raspberries? Your on the wrong side of the wall."

"I've lost half my men." stated Clegane. "The Blackwater is on fire." he said, the normal raspy voice seeming to crackle and break. Joffery piped up from atop the wall, "Dog! I command you to go back out there and fight!" Bruce now thundered down the steps. "Your kingsguard, Clegane!" he reminded the Hound, "You love killing so much, go do some!" The Master-at-Arms brushed past his uncle and squared up to Clegane. "We have to beat Renly back or we lose the city. Your king's city!" The Hound shrunk back from the Lion and bowed his head. "Fuck killing. Fuck you. Fuck Renly. Fuck the city." Clegane raised his sword and pointed it at Joffery, "And fuck the king!"

With that the white knight turned and walked away, the line of fresh soldiers shrank back and parted for the rabid dog. He is dead on his feet. They could all see it could see it now. The wound, the fire... he's done, they needed to find someone else, but who? Joffery? Bruce looked at the men and knew it would not do. Clegane's fear had shaken them, but Joffery could not do the same his power came from his dog and his dog alone.

The cries of dying men and ringing steel contiued. It wouldn't belong before the wildfire abated and Renly brought the rest of his steel fist on the harbour. "Very well, I'll lead the sortie." Tyrion looked to his nephew as did they all, "You?" asked the Imp. "Me." confirmed the Lion drorning his antlered helm. "Form up!" Some did so but not all. Bruce looked to their unsure faces and the scorched marks on the rable in gold cloaks. "You won't hear me shout out Joffrey's name," he told them. "You won't hear me yell for Casterly Rock either. This is your city Renly means to sack. Your houses he will pillage. Your daughters and sons he'll rape." He reached round and grabbed the Lannister cloak at his back and showed them all it, "These are your colours now! Do these colours run?!" There was an uproar of "No!" Bruce smiled at them all, "Renly thinks he can make them run! Can he?!" Again there was another uproar. "So come with me and kill the son of a bitch!" Bruce drew his sword and pointed it out the gate and charged. Everyone followed him their boots thundering against the stone floor of the gate square.

In the harbour the few Lannister men were now surrounded in a square. Ser Arys was trying to rally them and keep them fighting but it was to no avail. Renly's men hacked and slashed their way through them as more of their number staggered in from the river or other battles now ended. As the fate of the harbour seemed certain there was a mighty roar from the main road into the square. It silenced the fighting for moment and all the combatants looked to see it's origin."These colours don't fucking run!" came the shout as the square was lit up with clangor of new steel as the prince's men broke through to their beleaguered fellows.

Reachmen and Stormlanders fell in droves against the steel swords and iron spears of the relief force. Steel flashed all around and blood splurted from wounds. Bruce founded he was carving through shields with his sword and bludgening heads with his hammer. They began to force back Renly's men through the narrow streets to the harbour's shoreline and stunted piers

Men were crawling from the river, men burned and bleeding, coughing up water, staggering, most dying. He led his troop among them, delivering quicker cleaner deaths to those strong enough to stand. The war shrank to the size of his eye slit. Knights twice his size fled from him, or stood and died. They seemed little things, and fearful. "Lannister!" he shouted, slaying. His arms were red to the elbow, glistening in the light off the river.

The battle fever. He had never thought to experience it himself, though his uncle Jaime and grandfather had told him of it often enough. How time seemed to blur and slow and even stop, how the past and the future vanished until there was nothing but the instant, how fear fled, and thought fled, and even your body. "You don't feel your wounds then, or the ache in your back from the weight of the armor, or the sweat running down into your eyes. You stop feeling, you stop thinking, you stop being you, there is only the fight, the foe, this man and then the next and the next and the next, and you know they are afraid and tired but you're not, you're alive." Battle fever. "I am Bruce Lannister!" he shouted for all to hear, and drunk with slaughter, "I am the Lion with Antlers! Come kill me if you can!"

They tried. Another spearman ran at him. He lopped off the head of his spear, then his hand, then his arm, and slammed the spike of his hammer into the man's skull. A knight rose up from nowhere to hack at his head with a two-handed greatsword, again and again, until Bruce caught the strike with his hammer and pushed his sword through the slit in the knight's helmet.

They were on the sand of the shoreline now. Smoke and cinders swirled through the air, and the foe broke before their butchery, throwing themselves back into the water, knocking over other men as they fought to bring their steel into the fray. Bruce reeled round for a new foe but haulted when his sword clanged against a giant meat cleaver. When he saw the night black-iron armour of his chief captain he couldn't help but choke out the cry of "Butcher!" The hulk of a man grunted drew back his cleaver and hacked the head off some rose wearing knight before he turned back to the prince and gave him a scarred smile through his horned helm.

The Butcher and the Lion fought back to back as more and more of Renly's troops came at them. They battered them down with sword and cleaver and hammer. Blood painted them both redder and redder. Steel scrapped steel and iron thuded against flesh in the heat of the battle. The dead began to pile up on the beach in greater droves. The wildfire had now stopped completely, only a few scarce embers remained on the charred decking of the _King Robert's Hammer_ remained and more of Renly's army began to pour across the river.

Out of no where the Butcher called out, "Look, M'Lord!" Bruce withdrew his sword from a Reachman's chest and whipped round to where Crag was pointing. Then he saw them. Glittering in a suit of enameled green armor with a helm that had a pair of golden antlers, King Renly. Beside him a dozen knights, Bruce could make out the armour of Ser Loras Tyrell and the coat of arms of Tarth, Caron and Royce, amongst others. They were astride a large oak raft that boar down the river further down from Bruce. If this battle was to be decided it had to be here and now. The young Lion called out to rally some men. His voice quick became hoarse from shouting but swords came to his aid none the less.

Half a dozen gold cloaks and Lannister men came with bloodied spears and swords, haggard and panting. Alongside them came Meryn Trant and Ser Arys, their white cloaks cut to ribbons and dowsed in brains and blood. Finally came Robert Waters, grinning like a fool. He bore no helm or shield, only heavy iron plate and morningstar, smeared with grey matter. "Orders, ser?" asked a gold cloak. Bruce pointed to the raft that bore King Renly with his hammer, "I'm gonna kill that bastard!"

He charged and battled through the melee with his men cutting down all who stood in their path. Ahead of them, Renly's watercraft beached on the solid ground and out they poured, making a b-line for the harbour. When a Reachman saw the prince going for his king he ran infront of Bruce. The Lion lowered his head and the antlers on his helm punctured straight through the thin padding the man wore. When Bruce realed back his helm was lost in the man's chest as he fell down dead.

When he looked for his uncle he caught sight of him running into the harbour, "To me!" shouted the prince as he ran. They followed hot on his heels. The harbour's narrow streets fast turned into a maze littered the ground. Left and right they ran scouring out for the usurper king. After along chace they came out at a clearing and Bruce locked his sea green eyes with the storm blue of his uncle. His guard surrounded him bristling, swords drawn and armour gleeming. "No mercy." Bruce ordered his men as they now began to surround him.

The two groups charged each other. Steel clashed with steel in a seemingly unknown ferocity. Going unnoticed Bruce steeped through the brutal melee to his uncle. His hammer began to spin from his wrist and his sword raised to strike at his uncle. Renly saw his nephew coming, kicked away the gold cloak he foaught with and readied for the fight for his life. Bruce hit for his uncle's head but it was caught with his shield. The two fast began to trade blows fast and deadily, whiping at each other like lightening.

Bruce fast pushed Renly back to a small pier that was surrounded by the rushing river. Steel slashed and lunged, as the two began to wear down. Bruce swung his hammer wide and it cluncked against Renly's helm knocking him simple. Dazed the king's guard lowered and Bruce laughed at the opening. He drove his word with full force into his uncle's stomach, his eyes bore into his uncle's as he suddenly realised his defeat. Bruce roared and pulled the sword out and swung wide, cleaving the stags head from the shoulders.

Bruce sighed at his victory and felt an immense weight leave his shoulders as he dropped his sword. He breathed in to shout his victory but was cut off by a blood curtling scream. The Lion turned to see The Knight of Flowers charging him, sword in hand. Bruce smiled and counter charged raising his hammer. Black-iron met with steel and a shuddering ringing went out. Ser Loras cared not for his usual grace in fighting, only to now kill for his own sake, the sake of venegence.

Bruce found himself in due retreat as he matched the Tyrell's enslaught, though not managing to force his own attack. With one savage blow Bruce found that his guard was shattered as his hammer went reeling. When he stepped back to avoid Loras's killing blow, Bruce found all ground beneath his heel disappear. He looked behind and found himself on the edge on the short pier, falling backward. He reached out for something to grab onto, but found nothing but open air.

When the Knight of Flowers grasped Bruce's out-stretched arm with his right hand, the Lion would have felt he would have rather fell, but then he recoiled in horror. Loras Tyrell was left handed. The steel point slashed clean through his eye, and he felt its cold hard touch and then a blaze of pain. His head spun around as if he'd been slapped as he wretched his arm out of the knights grasp. The shock of the cold water was a second slap more jolting than the first. The Lion found himself sinking, caught up in the fast flowing river current. He floundered in the water, thrashing his arms and legs as he was pulled down, down, down. Into blackness.


	34. Bruce X

**jamnaz79**: Thanks I'm glad it was worth the effort

**Master of Dragons God**: Quite

**SimFlyer**: I don't remember one eye stopping Euron Greyjoy

**DannyMcDingles**: In Westeros killing any relative, no matter distant, is regarded as Kinslaying. So we now have Jaime the Kingslayer and his nephew the Kinslayer.

**raidensokwl**: Little late to be criticising my grammar 33 chapters in, don't you think.

**Evaline101**: As if he could.

**jrnmrtns: **Perhaps we shall have to wait and see.

**Bruce**

Bruce was unsure how long he had been starring up at the ceiling, only that he was no longer seeing black. At first he could see only the blurred outline of a dark red ceiling above him, but after a time the vague outlines of a bed appeared around him. The drapes were drawn, but he could see the shape of carved bedposts. Under him was the yielding softness of a featherbed, and the pillow beneath his head was soft and gentle as it cradled him. My own bed, I am in my own bed, in my own chambers.

He tried to call out for help, but when he tried to speak he found he had no mouth. The discovery terrified him. How could he live without a mouth? He felt so weak, and the pain stabbed through him when he struggled to lift his hand. He gave up the effort. His head felt enormous, as big as the bed, too heavy to raise from the pillow. The left of his face seemed to be pushing downward so that he could not rise, no matter how he willed. His vision all felt as though it was pushed on a slant to the right. His body he could scarcely feel at all. How did I come here? He tried to remember. The battle came back in fits and flashes. The fight along the river, the fall of _Rob's Hammmer_, running ragged around the harbour, his uncle...

Ser Loras! He saw the dead empty eyes that blazed in rage, the raching hand, the flashing of cold steel, and rush of cold water. Fear swept over him in a cold rush; Was he dead, had he been killed. He did not belong with the dead. He had no mouth, but he was still a living man. No, a lion, a lion, and alive. Help me, someone help me. Uncle, Mother, Father... someone.

No one heard. No one came. Alone in the dark, he fell back into sleep again. He dreamed his mother was standing over his bed, with her lord father beside her, frowning. It had to be a dream, since Lord Tywin was a thousand leagues away, fighting Robb Stark in the Riverlands. The stunted figure of his uncle Tyrion hung over him, as though they had switched sizes. The Imp looked to have tears in his mismatched eyes as he reached a hand out and brushed his fingers across Bruce's brow.

Others came and went as well. Varys looked down on him and sighed. Littlefinger made a jest. 'Bloody bastard,' Bruce thought venomously, we sent you to find my grandfather and you never came back. Sometimes he could hear them talking to one another, but he did not understand the words. He wanted to ask if they'd won the battle. We must have, else I'd be a head on a spike somewhere. If I live, we've won. He did not know what pleased him more: the victory, or the fact he had been able to work it out. His wits were coming back to him, however slowly. That was good, all he needed now was his mouth.

The next time he woke, the drapes had been pulled back, and he caught the smell of fresh roses and saw soft, brown, curling hair. Now he was dead. He knew that hair too well. Margaery Tyrell was with Renly, Renly was dead so she must be too and now so was Bruce. When she saw Bruce open his eye she ran off. No, don't go, help me, help, he tried to call, but the best he could do was a muffled moan. I have no mouth. He raised a hand to his face, his every movement pained.

His fingers found stiff cloth where they should have found flesh. Linen. The left of his face was wrapped tight in cloth. Eye, noes, cheek and mouth all masked beneath bandages. A short while later she reappeared. This time a stranger was with her, with a maester's chain and robed. "My prince, you must be still," the man murmured. "You are grievously hurt. You will do yourself great injury. Are you thirsty?"

He managed an awkward nod. The maester inserted a curved copper cup into the corner of the unbandaged side of his mouth. Bruce swallowed eagerly, barely even tasted what was going down his throat. Too late he realized the liquid was milk of the poppy. By the time the maester removed the cup from his mouth, he was already spiraling back to sleep.

Now he dreamed he was kneeling on a hard stone floor. His shoulders were heavy with the weight of a great cloak that hung from his back. It was soft and made of fur. He recogzined the feeling of lion's fur, but this was far different from normal fur, it was softer, smoother and shinned with a blood red gleam.

He looked up and saw a tall figure standing infront of him that blocked out the light. Bruce caught a glimse of the man's face; it was a handsome one with a wide brow that jutted forward slightly, mismatched eyes of green and black with pale blond hair that fell down across his eye. The stranger smiled and raised his hands, in them a gold crown glittering in rubys and emeralds. He placed the crown atop Bruce's head and his smile widened as he spoke, "Rise, sweet nephew."

Bruce felt his throat tighten at the voice when he recognized it. "Tyrion?!" he gasped. The stranger nodded and held out a hand, Bruce took it and rose. His uncle stood at the same height as Bruce as they stood starring at each other. The dwarf-no-longer then stepped back from his nephew and held out an arm gesturing down a long corridor whose walls were draped in Lannister lions and prancing stags.

Tyrion led his nephew down the corridor to a set of great iron doors. His uncle pushed one of them open and Bruce walked into the room they guarded. Inside was a feast, a victory feast in some great hall. All voices now stopped and the clanging of knives and forks stopped as the eyes of the room looked to him.

Bruce saw a thousand different faces: his four captains tall and strong, the men of his father's Kingsguard in their gleeming white cloaks, his grandfather was smiling with approval at him, long dead Ned Stark and his family were all there, even the cripple Bran stood happily sandwhiched between his two sisters.

Bruce suddenly felt two pairs of arms wrap around his chest. He looked down and smiled as he saw little Tommen and sweet Myrcella beaming up at their big brother. Bruce patted their heads and hugged back at them. He enjoyed the feeling of being a brother now more than ever, but the moment was stopped as the two young ones were shooed away by their mother. Cersei stood infront of her son smiling as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.

From out of the crowd behind his mother came Bruce's uncles. Jaime, green eyes gleaming and white teeth shinning as he smiled at his nephew. Tyrion, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jaime, smirking like sly cat. Stone-faced Stannis, his usual gaunt expression gone for a more mellow look, though still serious looking from his storm swept eyes. Finally, young Renly a wisp of smile sprouting out the corner of his mouth. Bruce felt his heart tighten as he gazed upon Renly and he remembered how vivid it was when he saw his uncle's head leave his neck. They all kneeled infront of Bruce and the rest of the room followed suit, as they all began to chant, "Long live the King!"

He woke again, and his room was filled with light. It seemed just how he had left it before the battle when he looked round. Bruce felt the aching in his joints subsiding. He pushed the blankets and forced himself up-right. He moved to the side and his legs hung lazily over the bed as he took in deep breaths.

He tested the ground to see if it was stable enough to stand on. With great effort he pushed against the duck feather bed and rose steadily. The room began to spin in circles around him and he felt dazed and confused suddenly as all weight he pressed on his feet intensified and his legs buckled. He crashed to the floor and the pain from all over his body began to pin him to the ground. The left of his face bore the brunt of his fall and he yelped out in agony like a wounded dog. What's happened to me? Even the battle seemed half a dream when he tried to think back on it. I was hurt more badly than I knew.

His stomach lurched and leapt about inside of him and he felt bile rising in him slowly but surely. He looked round the room for the chamber pot. He felt all the pain remove itself from him as he scrambled around him for it. He pawed at the bandages that covered half of his face and ripped them away from his mouth. Bruce was unsure of what he had in his stomach to empty, as it already felt devoid of content already, but none the less out came the sick.

He wretched and coughed into the chamber pot almost none stop. It was mainly just bile, blood and water but the odd chunk of food found it's way out. When he finally finished, Bruce stood leant against the wall beside the chamber pot and panted heavily as he starred down at what he'd just brought up. Using the back of his hand he wiped away what remained on his face and felt bits caught in his budding moustache.

Pushing himself away from the wall he found his legs were now more accommidating to the weight he placed on them. He staggered round the room to his table. Littered across the varnished wood were a few of his belongings that remained there. His sword freshly polished and cleaned of blood, a leather bound book his uncle had given him, and his lion skin. His hand skated across the table and grasped the pelt and brought it to his face. He breathed in the familiar scent greatfully and smiled at the rough feel against his face.

When he set the cloak back on the table he saw the looking glass. He swallowed thickly as he grasped the fragile glass with one hand and pulled the tattered bandages away from his wound. He did not know whether he ought to laugh or cry. The gash was long and crooked, starting at the top of his left eye brow and going through his eye and ending halfway down his cheek. What remained of his once lively sea green eye was now a blasted, scabbed ruin. His eye lid was completely split down the middle, he tried blinking hard but the skin did not respond no matter how he willed it to. The eye itself was no longer there, only a red fleshy pulp remained.

He reached to try and touch the wound but as he lightly brushed it a body binding sting rippled through out his body. He dropped the looking glass and flinched back at the pain. The glass shattered across the table into thousands of pieces but Bruce cared not for it, only for the pounding in his head. He pushed the bandages back in place across his eye and sighed, trying to control the pain.

Iron hindges creaked behind him and he went for his sword like lightening, whiping the blade out like a cat unsheating it's claws. In walked Tyrion in his usual garbs of red and gold. Bruce went weak in the knees when he saw his uncle as his regular stunted self the only difference in his look was a shallow scar that stretched across his right cheek. The two Lannisters stood looking at each other for what seemed like forever.

"Cut yourself shaving?" asked Bruce finally. Tyrion smiled, "With a fearful big razor, yes." They shared a laugh and Bruce lowered the sword back to the table. Tyrion seemed to be on the verge of tears as he saw his nephew standing at last. He went to him his arms out stretched to embrace Bruce. The young lion went to one knee and hugged his uncle fiercely. "I thought I'd lost you, boy." Sobbed Tyrion into Bruce's shoulder.

A lump caught firm in his throat as Bruce now to began to cry. Nephew and uncle held each other for a long while until they had both stopped their sorrow. They pulled away from the embrace and Bruce stood, towering over the Imp. "What happened? The battle..." said Bruce.

Tyrion nodded and pulled a chair out from the underneath the table and sat awkwardly on it, "You killed Renly didn't you?" questioned the Imp. The Crown Prince nodded. "I thought so. After that the assault collapsed and just turned into a rout. Once news got out their king was dead both the Reachmen and Stormlanders went to rout, but after the news went out you too were dead..." Tyrion swallowed a lump in his throat and bit down on his lip, "We ended up back in the city eventually. We just stayed there waiting for the next assault but it never came. Through out the rest of the night we heard nothing, they just stood there on the hill as though nothing was happening. When morning came we saw my father and his cavalry arrive they had them totally surounded but not one lifted a sword. Ser Loras tried to fight them but when none joined him he turned his sword on his own men and fled with the Storm Lords. Lord Tywin then sat down with Lord Tyrell and settled a truce."

Bruce nodded and took in the information steadily. "Where did you find me?" he asked. Tyrion shrugged, "Somewhere on the mouth of the Rush's banks about a day after the truce." Bruce swallowed thickly, "How long ago was that?" The Imp sighed. "About a fortnight." Bruce's brow furrowed at his uncle's answer. 'Perhaps I really was dead.' Thought Bruce bitterly.

"What else has happened while I was asleep?" Bruce questioned. Tyrion ran a hand through his sandy blond hair as he responded, "I am no longer Hand of the King. Your grandfatherhas taken up most of the reponsibilities since his arrival. I still hold the title but I doubt to retain even that for much longer." The dwarf laid a hand on the table and flicked one of the glass shards away from him.

Bruce pulled out a chair from beneath the talbe and sat next to his uncle. "What are the terms of the peace with the Tyrells?" he asked eagerly. Tyrion tried not to look at his nephew as he anwered. "The Tyrells have taken on some of the Crown's debts, around a million dragons from what I heard from Littlefinger. And about a thousand of their men have been folded into the gold cloaks. The smallfolk weren't to fond of them to begin with, but once the started carting up from Highgarden and giving it away there isn't a man or boy in the city without little golden roses sewn on their doublets. Even Tom-"

"Who will Margaery wed?" Bruce cut off, darkly his eye brow raising and fist clenching. Tyrion held in his breath and cast a glance up to face Bruce, "I don't know." Bruce rose, snarling. "Liar." he spat at the Imp. Tyrion rose his hands in defence, "I don't know," he repeated, "Truly, I don't. Though I doubt we shall know before the day is out." Bruce retook his seat as his uncle continued. "Joffery has demanded to host a session of court. Most likely the terms of the peace will be made public then."

Bruce's fist slammed on the table, making even more glass splinters. He rose and took for his wardrobe. "When will the court assemble?" asked the One-eyed Lion as he swung open the doors to his closet. Tyrion simply sat and watched while his nephew began to pull out fresh clothes.

"You're not going." the dwarf insisted but Bruce barked out a laugh. "The hell I aren't. I've been dead for two weeks, time I rejoined the living." He then stopped suddenly ands turned to face his uncle. "A fortnight?" He asked the Imp. Tyrion nodded again, unsure of himself as he saw the grin creep up his nephew's scarred face. A hand went up to Bruce's face and he placed his fingers on the linen bandages covering his eye. "Quite the name-day gift." He said, tightening the bandages round his knackered eye.


	35. Tyrion VI

**Archagel9418**: Indeed. Thank you for the complement

**Silver crow****: **Oh yes. He will.

**raide****nsokwl****:** Thanks

**ChairmanJeong**: Well aside from their previous relationship and the fact that Margaery is the most sort after women in the Seven Kingdom, Bruce knows he will have to marry or be betrothed to someone soon. He would rather it be someone he was familiar with and knows how to make them 'tick' than some luck of the draw pox faced trout that he knows he could end up with.

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><p><strong><span>Tyrion<span>**

The stone floor of the Red Keep sent clicks and clacks ringing out as the heels of Tyrion's and his nephew's boots hit against the near three hundred year old floor. They walked side-by-side in relative silence through the corridors that led from the Royal Appartments to the Throne Room. Every room and passage they marched through was empty not even a lonley servant changing a chamber pot or lighting a hearth could seen. Even the mice and rats that had come to run rampant round the keep in the build up to King Renly's assault on the city were present.

Tyrion was still with his nephew in his chambers when the bells announcing that court was open rang out across the Red Keep. In spite of all Tyrion's protests Bruce was still adamant to be there in person. Tyrion pitied the boy, he most have know what he would face. At the best of times Bruce could not suffer his brother's torment, now there would be no telling what kind of mockery Joffery would deliver.

But, it was not just the King's japes Tyrion feared. Precious few people knew for certain that Bruce was indeed alive. Those that did had mainly kept their tounges but others had had their words contorted into a thouand wild, ghastly rumours of varying scandalousness and unbelievability. One, Tyrion had heard, said that Bruce was now a blind cripple with no legs but instead now walked around on wooden replicas of lion's legs. Another he had heard was that the prince had lost both his eyes and an ear in his duel with Renly and the Knight of Flowers and Lord Tywin had ordered Grand Maester Pycelle to sew the dead king's own ear as replacement and had pushed the usurper's eyes into Bruce's head to make it look as though he still had his own eyes.

Of all the rumours that Tyrion heard, the one he feared the most was the one that turned out to be true. When Bruce confirmed to his uncle that he had slain Renly himself Tyrion knew that Bruce would be stalked by the fact all his life. He had seen it happen with his brother and the Mad King. Whenever the Smallfolk would now speak of Bruce they would only say how godless a creature he was for decapitaing Renly, even if doing it had all but won the battle and saved King's Landing, the Smallfolk would not care and neither would anyone else. Nobles now whispered of the Kinslayer as though he were some monster in a wet nurse's story. Now, with only one eye, Bruce had the looks to match such a creature.

They turned a corner and entered the courtyard. They were close to the Throne Room now, and Bruce seemed to speed up. Tyrion managed to keep pace well on his stunted legs better than he usually would. He knew why his nephew was so eager, but couldn't help but feel as though Bruce's anxiousness was to be in vain. For all the quick and readiness to jump onto the winning side, many of Tyrells were still disapointed and bitter that Renly had died. Tyrion could tell none more so than the Knight of Flowers, he recalled seeing Ser Loras flee the scene of battle when his father and Tyrion's sat down to treat. And if Ser Loras bore a grudge against Bruce so to would Lord Mace and the whole of the Reach bore one too. Bruce's hidden hopes to wed Lady Margaery were slim at best.

Tyrion himself was uneasy of this new alliance with the Tyrell's more than most in the Red Keep. They were all to fast to begin sinking their thorns into the Red Keep and King's Landing. Each day a least a thousand carts burdened with boxes and bundles containing what a few days ago would have caused a riot and the lack of did. Wheat, barley, apples and fruit, fresh vegetables, loaves of bread by the wagon load and even decent meat. All of it came with the regards of the Reach and in the name of Lady Margaery. Whether it was designed by the girl herself or the plan of some other rose in the thorn bush, Margaery Tyrell already seemed to be a Queen in the eyes of the Smallfolk.

They reached the unguarded doors of the Throne Room in good time. Tyrion felt the slackening in defence of the city and Red Keep had come about as a result of; four thousand defenders had fell in battle, the Master-at-Arms had been believed dead for two weeks and with all the food brought from Highgarden at least double the amount of wine came aswell. It all painted a very unsure picture.

Bruce and Tyrion stood outside the great iron door for some time, both preparing themselves for what was to come. Eventually, Tyrion looked up to his nephew to gauge his readiness. He had thought about what his dress code should be. Normally, his nephew wore some reminder of his father's house, be it as grand as a Baratheon styled tunic or simplistic as a stag broach to claspe together his cloak. Today, for this, he was all scarlett, gold and lions.

He was in a simple red tunic trimmed with golden thread that made sure he would stand out. As a symbol of his office he had a golden breastplate that covered his chest with a roaring lion of Casterly Rock. His sword hung loosely from the belt around his waist with his hand grasped around the hilt of the blade tightly. The trade-mark lion skin cloak was wrapped around Bruce's shoulders, the head of the beast craddled the back of his head and it was held together by a pouncing lion broach. All in all Tyrion felt Bruce would have looked more at home back on a battlefield than stroling into court half-way through a meeting ordered by the King.

Bruce caught the Imp starring at him from the corner of his good eye and he looked down at him with a raised brow. "What?" He asked Tyrion seemingly antagonized by the stare. Tyrion took a deep breath when he saw the tight linen bandages across his nephew's face and laid the palm of his hand on the iron door. "Ready?" Asked the dwarf. Bruce simply nodded and pulled the the lion's head over his own tightly, casting a shadow over the whole of his face it even blocked out the bandage.

Bruce more kicked the grand iron door open than anything else. Both doors were thrown open at the hit of Bruce's boot as it clanged on the metal and the doors boomed wide, sending vibrations around the whole castle that shocked everyone inside the Throne Room and Tyrion on the outside.

The throne room was a sea of jewels, furs, and bright fabrics. Lords and ladies filled the back of the hall and stood beneath the high windows. They were all packed in a tight group that stretched far beyond Tyrion could see. As soon as the doors were flung open by Bruce's heel everyone in the hall had turn round to the entrance to the hall all eyes upon the Imp and Lion. When they realised whom had interupted court a series of gasps and whispers were spurred around the room and some of those closest to the doors flinched back their faces turning sheet white as though they'd seen a ghost.

Tyrion and Bruce shared a quick glanceout of the corner of their eyes before they began to stride boldly into the room. The Lords, Ladys and people of importance began to back away from them both as they stepped up the middle of the Throne Room. Tyrion felt almost invisible as nobody paid him any attention, only the resurrected prince was their concern as whispers of "The Kinslayer," "Renly's Bane," "Demon of the Blackwater," and "The Lion," went trembling through the hall.

From the front of the hall Tyrion heard Joffery shout, "Who open the doors? Who dares interrupt my court?! Ser Meryn!" Neither Tyrion nor Bruce gave any mind to the King's child-like fussing, they continued to stride through the parting sea of people on a wave of continuous murmmering. Tyrion caught sight of some Reach Lords casting scowls, and glares at Bruce as he past them, they were all older looking and no doubt they had lost sons or brothers in the battle. Tyrion saw a knight he recognized as one of his father's bannermen whisper something to another as Bruce began to approah them. The knight behind him smirked and would have laughed aloud had he not bitten down on his lip. A white badger on per pale green and brown was their coat of arms, Tyrion would have to check which of Lord Lydden's sons had come to court, and remind him why he shouldn't mock the Heir to The Rock.

As the last members of court moved out of their way Tyrion got a look at the front of the court. At the council table, Queen Cersei shimmered in a cloth-of-gold gown slashed in burgundy velvet. When Cersei caught sight of her son walking into the clearing that sat inbetween the crowd and the council table she dropped her brazen, insulted look and brought her hands up to her mouth. Tyrion had no doubt if this were a private meeting his sister would have broken down in tears and ran to her son, but in public, like this, a gasp and hands on her mouth would be all Bruce got.

On his sister's left was Lord Varys. Tyrion had never seen the eunuch look suprised before but it was beyond doubt the emotion he was feeling. Beside him, Lord Littlefinger. Dressed all in shades of rose and plum, his cloak patterned with mockingbirds. He looks so pleased at nothing but his own good fortune, but Tyrion had no doubt he would claim it was because of the prince's good health.

At the head of the table, on Cersei's right was Tyrion's Lord father, beside three empty chairs. The Lord of Casterly Rock made such an impressive figure even behind a table as he was now. Tyrion caught a glimpse of the badge of the Hand of the King on Lord Tywin's chest, 'Looks like I've missed my dismissal.' Thought Tyrion grimly. His father looked first at Bruce and then to Tyrion and raised an eyebrow. Tyrion shrugged back and looked to the figure that towered above them all on the Iron Throne.

King Joffrey sat above them all, amongst the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne. He was in crimson samite, his black mantle studded with rubies, on his head his heavy golden crown. When the King caught sight of who had interrupted his holding of court, he scowled and rose from the throne. "You!" he spat at his brother. Bruce's grin came out from beneath the shadow cast over his face, "Me." he replied.

Tyrion had never seen Joffery look in such distress. "You're supposed to be dead!" wailed the king. A few more murmmers went round the room at the king's greeting of his wounded brother. Bruce cared not them or Joffery's wailing. "Am I?" he said mockingly, "Someone should tell Ser Loras he needs to practice his swordwork then." The jest sent a ripple of laughter and distain around the hall.

Joffery did not seem amused. He stepped down from his throne and round the table to infront of his brother. "You should be dead." repeated the king. Bruce squared up to him and Joffery seemed to shrink considerably infront of his much taller little brother. "Just because you keep saying it doesn't mean it will come true." said Bruce casting a stone look down at the king.

His brother glanced up at him for a moment before he turned his look back to the floor but then Tyrion saw his eyes widened at the ground and he looked back up at his brother. "What happened to your eye?"

The room froze over completely. A lump caught in Tyrion's throat at what the king had uttered. The queen's eyes widened at the unspeakable her eldest had said. Behind him, Tyrion felt the ripple go through the crowd, "It's true!" he heard someone say in a half shouted whisper. Joffery squared back up to his brother who took a step back but still held the gaze of the king bristling in defiance.

"Show me your eye." commanded the king. Tyrion looked at his father who now rose from his chair at the head of the council table, "Your Grace..." Whatever the Warden of the West would have said was cut off when Joffery, offended by his brother's refusal to comply. "I said, 'Show me your eye!'" the king shouted in his brother's face.

Never before had a king's crown been in such danger, not even Renly Baratheon's as his nephew's sword took off his head. One of Bruce's hands shot up and gripped his brother's throat in a vice-like grip. The court became ablaze in protest and jeering. Tyrion saw as Ser Meryn and Arys peel off from the side of the room and quickly walked to their king's aid. Cersei wailed in horror and the King's Hand called out for order, but the growl that came from Bruce cut through it all as he yanked down his hood with one hand, brought Joff close to his face and pointed to his bandaged eye. "This was for _you_. This is more than anyone else will give for you and it is the last you will have from _me_."

Everyone froze at the Crown Prince's words and all looked on with bated breath watching the two brothers. Tyrion called out to Bruce in a vain attempt to secure Joff's safe release, "Bruce you are better than this." All eyes went to the Imp as he spoke. Whether it was because of his words or some self bound act, Bruce released Joffery and threw him to the ground.

The king stayed on the ground for a long while as his brother loomed over him. Shaking, Joffery began to rise and as he did, Bruce turned from him and to Tyrion. With a quick jerking of his head, the prince motioned for his uncle to follow. He did so gingerly, and together, the two lions walked from the room.


	36. Tywin II

**DannyMcDingles**: As do I. Thank you for the rating

**greenstripe**: You flatter me too much, sir

**Salvare**: When you put it like that you make the Lannister's sound like some kind of basement jazz band

**cdog21**: I have read a great many books in my life and in not one of them has the author or the publisher ever separated conversations into two separate paragraphs. And I am curious to know with what authority, rather than your opinion, gives you the right to label a story 'great'

**jamnaz79**: It was originally be a much longer chapter and from Margaery's POV but I changed my mind when it became apparent that I wasn't entirely confident with how Margaery might cope when seeing Bruce for the first time with one eye

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><p><strong><span>Tywin<span>**

Tywin Lannister was not the kind of man to suffer fools, gladly or otherwise. This fact also applied to the Lord of the Westerland's second son. Tyrion sat across from his father in the Hand of the King's office at the top of the Tower of the Hand, from which Lord Tywin had now evicted his son. The dwarf's hands tapped and his fingers drummed on the arms of his chair anxiously. Across from the Imp his father. Lord Tywin's hands was fast at work drawing up letters and sealing them. They had sat like that for some time with Tyrion's paitence growing ever thinner at every flick of his father's quill.

Finally, the Imp broke the silence which he was growing ever more uncomfortable in. "I like your new badge. It looks good on you," offered the dwarf "Almost as good as it looked on me..." Lord Tywin gave no reponse to his son and contiuned with the letter which caused his predecessor's teeth to grind against themselves. "Are you enjoying your new office?"

That caused the old lion to stop and laid the inked feather down on the table. "Am I enjoying it?" asked Tywin. His son shrank back from him and brought his hands close to his chest and gave a lame smile. "I was rather happy as Hand of the King." The Lord of the Rock snorted, "I heard how happy you were. Was it just the one whore you brought into my bed?" Tyrion bristled at his father's question, "It wasn't your bed at the time."

Lord Tywin rose. The Lord of Casterly Rock was as lean as a man years younger, even handsome in a way. Stiff blond whiskers covered his cheeks, framing a stern face, a bald head, and hard mouth. The badge of his office was pinned to his doublet, just below the right shoulder. "What do you want, Tyrion?" he asked his son.

Tyrion looked around the room taking note of the his father's chambers. "Such pleasant chambers you have. I trust you found them in good standing after you forced me out of my room." Tywin said nothing and rounded the table as the Imp continued, "It seems while you moved me out, you forgot to find me somewhere to in." Lord Tywin picked up a wine flagon and poured it's contents into a cup. "The Red Keep is overcrowded with wedding guests. Once they depart, we will find you suitable accommodations." Tyrion winced and looked round the room again. "I rather liked these accommodations."

The old lion took a draft from his cup before he rebuffed the Imp, "Did you come here just to complain of your bedchamber and make your japes? I have important letters to finish." Tyrion snickered, "Important letters, to be sure. You may recall I know of the stresses placed upon a newly appointed Hand." Lord Tywin snarled, "You might want to consider the stresses you caused than faced."

The Imp raised an eye brow, "Such as?" Tywin swallowed another mouthfull of wine. "I trust that bit of theatre in the Throne Room yesterday was your idea." Tyrion's face contorted into a look of annoyance that slightly peeled open the scar across his cheek. "And how did you reach that conclusion?" The old lion's eyes narrowed at the dwarf. "It was you who told Bruce to appear at court was it not." The Imp took offence to that. "Give me some credit. Do you really think I would be foolish enough to not forsee that they would clash?" Lord Tywin shrugged at his son and his son shook his head and turned from his father in anger.

Silence returned to the room and Lord Tywin finished his wine. "Is that all?" he asked his stunted son. Tyrion looked back to the Lord of The Rock, "No." Lord Tywin's mouth hardened. "What else is there? Be quick, I have Seven Kingdoms to rule and three of them are in open rebellion."

Tyrion sighed and rubbed his face. "You can't marry the Tyrell girl to Joffery." stated the Imp. Lord Tywin raised an eye brow. "Why can't I?" Tyrion sat his head in one of his hands. "Bruce will never allow it." The old lion's brow lowered. "He doesn't have to allow it, only accept it."

The Imp became hard at thought on what to say next. "Bruce has become more... abrasive, since he awakened." Lord Tywin nodded in acknowledgement, "And you think giving him the girl will make him less so." Tyrion shrugged at his father, "It couldn't hurt."

Lord Tywin went back to his chair. "In truth I did try to arrange the match between them but that lumbering, oaf of a Lord wouldn't be take anything less than the king. Then Littlefinger stepped in and decided to offer up Joffery and the fool thought that he was speaking with my voice and Lord Mace accepted it." Tyrion's jaw clenched, "Baelish causes a diplomatic blunder and you give him Harrenhall? That hardly seems like a fair trade."

"Hardly a blunder. It may not have been ideal terms but it still secured the Reach and their army and so long as the Karstarks hold the castle for Robb Stark it is an empty title." Tyrion seemed to be on the brink. "And what of Bruce?" Lord Tywin matched his son's lack of patience. "He will be proud for the part he played in the battle and continue to serve the family, as will you."The two sat, starring at each other from across the table, seathing in fire and hatered.

"Will that be all?" asked the Hand of the King. Tyrion nodded and climbed out of the chair awkardly but just be for he could leave the Lord of the Rock said one last thing, "Find the boy and send him to me." It was no request and Tyrion knew better than to argue as he wadled from the room.

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><p>It was another hour before the door to Lord Tywin's solar was opened again. The Lord of The Rock looked up from his work to see his grandson walking through the door. Bruce was in scarlett robes trimmed with gold and his lion's head drooped heavily across his face, masking him in it's shadow. "Grandfather." greeted the Crown Prince, stopping in the center of the room. "Bruce." replied Lord Tywin rising from his seat.<p>

The two lions stood starring at each other for a long while before the older gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit." Bruce did so but only after a few moments of delibration. He stepped toward his grandfather timidly, pulling down his hood as he sat upon the chair. His eye was still tightly bound in soft linnen and his other eye seemed to be devoid of anything that may betray his feelings.

"I sent for you some time ago." said Lord Tywin expectantly. "My apologies. I was touring the battlements of the city. Renly's catapults did quite a number on the walls, I was checking how much work they would need on them." Whether it was the truth or not it satisfied the old lion.

The Hand of the King rounded the table, went to the wine flagon and poured out two cups. "How are you?" he asked his grandson. Bruce raised his eyebrow but answered all the same. "Thankful to be walking around at last." Lord Tywin turned and handed one of the cups to the price. "Good. For a time it was unsure whether or not you would wake. Maester Pycelle seemed to think you wouldn't." The prince snorted, "I'm not going to die yet. I still have debts to pay."

Lord Tywin took a drink from his own cup. "To whom, may I ask?" questioned the Lord of The Rock. Bruce's jaw clenched and his eye narrowed. "Loras Tyrell." he spat. His grandfather nodded, "And how do you intend to pay this debt?" The Crown Prince took a deep drink out of his cup before he answered, "Ser Loras fled with the Storm Lords who refused to bend the knee. That's roughly ten thousand men who could become very problematic. I want an army to take south and crush them before they can gather strength and threaten the capital."

The Hand of the King sipped at his cup before he set it down. "Where do you intend to get this army from?" The Master-at-Arms set down his own cu down on the table. "I have the right name and title to build an army in a matter of weeks and if you agree to help me I could have more than enough men to put all of Tyrell's army to the sword."

Lord Tywin shook his head. "The Tyrell's are the Crown's strongest ally. If you go with an army and my backing to behead their prize flower how long do you think it will be before they stop fighting the Stark's for us and send an army after you." Bruce snarled and growled in his chair, "I don't care. I am Crown Prince they can't kill me." His grandfather frowned and leaned back in his chair, "I always thought you smarter than your brother."

Bruce leaned forward and his snarl widened but never moved beyond anything else when Lord Tywin rose. "The Tyrell's rebeled against the Iron Throne, don't think your the only one with debts to pay. They will be payed in time, yes, but now, while we are at war, we shall have to bite our tounges and get through this as quickly as possible, only then can we show them the wroth of a lion." His grandson's snarl lessened but was still firm until Tywin added, "You will get Loras' head eventually, just be paitent." Gradually, the Crown Prince's jaw unclenched, his eye widened and his snarl abated.

"Now with all this talk of debt paying it's time you got what was owed to you." The prince's brow furrowed at what the Hand had said. "What do you mean?" Lord Tywin retook his seat as he answered, "Regardless of what the Smallfolk and the jesters at court think you have done the Realm a great service in the part you played in the battle." The prince growled again, "The part I played?" His nostrils flared. "I saved your bloody city, it seems to me."

"Indeed. You also managed to keep Joffery tamed, even if you did have to beat him into submition and I am told we have you and your uncle to thank for our Dornish neutrallity as well. You may be pleased to learn that Myrcella has arrived safely at Sunspear. Ser Mandon writes that she has taken a great liking to Princess Arianne, and that Prince Trystane is enchanted with her. I mislike giving House Martell a hostage, but I suppose that could not be helped."

"We'll have our own hostage soon enough," Bruce said. "A council seat was also part of the bargain. Unless Prince Doran brings an army when he comes to claim it, he'll be putting himself in our power." Lord Tywin picked back up his cup. "Would that a council seat were all Martell came to claim," Lord Tywin said. "You promised him vengeance as well."

"I promised him justice." Retorted the prince. "Call it what you will. It still comes down to blood." Said Tywin, taking a sip from his cup. "Not an item in short supply, surely? Or have you grown so fond of Gregor Clegane that you cannot bear to part with him?" questioned Bruce. "Ser Gregor has his uses, as did his brother. Every lord has need of a beast from time to time... a lesson you seem to have learned, judging from this Butcher of yours. I heard he took the heads of half of Renly's kingsguard and he's been providing me the heads of all the Reachmen who failed to accept Joffery as king."

"I had to tame the City Watch some how. Would you have rather me fought with half starved and wild rable instead?" Lord Tywin accepted the point, "True. Perhaps other dogs would hunt as well. I shall think on it." He then took up his quill and a fresh sheet of parchment, "Now, your reward."

The Crown Prince's jaw clenched again, "I want Margaery." The old lion set the quill back down and sighed, "I have already spoken with Tyrion about this." he insisted. "I know but I don't care. Margaery is my reward." Lord Tywin sat back in his chair, "Shall I explain to you in simple terms how the world works?" Bruce let out a sigh and bit down on his lip.

"A good man does all he can to better his family, regardless of his own selfish desires. You want a marriage? Fine, I'll find you a bride, but Joffery will marry Margaery Tyrell regardless of what you want. Understand?" Bruce barked out a laugh, "And when can I expect to marry Lady Sansa?" The Lord of The Rock was begining to have little patience for his grandson's insolence. "Do you really think I would condemn you to the Stark girl?"

"With Joffery wedding Margaery, Sansa can hardly be kept around to wander the Red Keep as she pleases, can she?" spat the prince. "Agreed, she will remain here as a ward of your mother." Bruce let out a snicker and rose but his grandfather cut off anything he would have said. "Whomever you find yourself betrothed to will not be a disappointment, I promise." The Master-at-Arm's eyes narrowed down at his grandfather, "You say that as though you have already found a match for me."

"Perhaps, you shall know more when I have narrowed the list down." His grandson's jaw clenched for a final time, as he towered above Lord Tywin. The two starred each other down for a long while, both as imposing as the one opposite.

Finally, Bruce relented and took back to his seat. "You won't agree to a match without my approval." He consented. Lord Tywin nodded, "Of course." With that his grandson stood up and dejectedly made his way out of the room. Just as the iron hindges creaked open Lord Tywin called out after him and his grandson turned to face him. "Any feelings you may have had for each other in Highgarden are long dead. If you try and recindle them and put this family in danger, I'll make sure that your debt to Ser Loras is canceled. Permenatly." The door banged shut and Lord Tywin was left back to his work.


	37. Bruce XI

**Archagel9418**: We'll soon find out

**Master of Dragons God**: It is a troubling business they're in

**DannyMcDingles**: With so many flaws it's struck me as rather odd that Bruce has never been so popular in people's reviews

**Silver crow:** Indeed it won't stop him

**SimFlyer**: We still have sometime to wait for the rematch unfortunately

**just some guy:**Even Tywin Lannister would be so cruel as to marry Bruce to a Frey

**Saint River****:** Unlikely given this new chapter

**raidensokwl**: it's difficult times they live in

**naleight: **He was fond of Arya but not in the same way as he is with Margaery. Plus it would be difficult for him to love a girl who is presumed dead

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><p><strong><span>Bruce<span>**

His head was aching again. It did it often now, ever since he had woken up in fact. Random bouts of sudden pain would render him near immovable to the point to which he could no longer stand. After a while the pain would lessen to the point were he could move again, but his head would continue to ache for the rest of the day.

He had gone to a maester about it but he had only been rebuffed. The maester had simply assured him that it was part of the healing process. Bruce didn't believe him. What was there left to heal? He would never be able to see out of his left eye again, his eye brow had started to grow back and the flesh which had beeen cut as far down as his cheek was already scarring.

Pycelle had offered the prince milk of the poppy but Bruce wouldn't take anything from the old man. Bruce had heard that Pycelle wouldn't treat Tyrion for his wound so why should he expect better treatment. Instead the prince had chosen a treatment which would have been more befitting his father. Wine did the job of dulling the pain and still kept him awake for the most part. Though since the moon had long risen Bruce was unsure if that was wise.

The summerwine was sweet on his tounge and kept the ringing his his head quiet as he sat in his chair. Across from him was his fire. The coals cracked and the wood spat sparks as the flames danced in circles beneath the hearth while smoke filtered through the room. Bruce was unsure how long he had been sat like that for he only knew he would have prefered better company than the wine flagon and his reflection.

The looking glass sat in his hand starring up at him and he glared back at his reflection. He had removed his bandages sometime ago and they now lay in a pile across the table the undersides slightly bloodied from when his eye had weapt. The irony was not lost on him that no matter where he moved the looking glass the closer the mangled unblinking eye seemed to follow him. When he had first looked at it his eye was more of a red pulp that would often weep blood and tears without cause. Now the eye was more brown and scabby to the point which it, still stung when he would prod at it, no longer would it be as great a pain and nor would it start to ooze blood.

He took a large swig from his goblet. His grandfather's promise hadn't fooled him. Loras would go free for as long as the Tyrell's were within the fold. If Loras was going to be punished it would have to be done in person. Loras would have to be drawn out of hiding, no amount of stags and roses could keep him safe once he entered the capital. Despite the new decorations, King's Landing was still a Lion's den.

Bruce thought back to when he had first met the Knight of Flowers. It had been Renly who had introduced them, Loras freshly knighted by his father and Bruce still the young foster to his uncle, wary of this strange, new, bed of roses, seemingly devoid of any thorns. Bruce had trained with many of the finest knights the realm had to offer but only Ser Loras could ever beat him more than once with anything: lance, sword, axe or spear. That didn't last long.

Bruce had spent near a hundred days trying to best the Knight of Flowers and despite every defeat he faced he would not submit. Loras had told Bruce he respected his defiance in the face of his better and while Bruce had thanked him for the compliment and proceeded to vault Ser Loras from his horse on their next joust. It was a feat which had impressed all the people of Highgarden and brought Bruce to the bed of Loras' sister.

Margaery.

Her name left a bitter sweet taste in his mouth. He washed it down with more wine. Tyrion had told him that Lord Tywin had tried to give him her at least, it was that oaf she called a father and the spineless bastard Littlefinger that had taken Margaery away from him. His fist clenched around the goblet as he set it back on the table. He looked to the fire and smiled at how the flames danced around each other, he'd danced with Margaery like that once.

It had been her fifteenth nameday. Highgarden had been alive with dancing and feasting. Bruce had never been one for dancing but he had made an exception for her. His feet were sore and the souls of his boots had been turned wafer thin, but the way she smiled at him afterward made it worth it. He had taken her to his room that night, something they had never done before, it was always on a place of Margaery's choosing but that night he chose their battle ground and she had been most greatful for his choice of weapon.

Bruce frowned and drained the last of his wine. He had never told Margaery how he felt for her but somehow, he could feel she knew. He growled to himself. Joffery would never feel that way for her. Joffery wasn't born with a heart. Joffery couldn't love. Joffery could only hate.

The sound of his chamber's door opening drew Bruce out of his thoughts. He listened sharply for footsteps coming from behind him. When nothing could be heard he angled the looking glass to peer over his shoulder. From out of the shadows he could see a cloaked figure moving away from the door. Bruce picked up the bandages with his free hand and st them in place around his head. "Lord Varys," Said Bruce as he fumbled with knot at the back of his head, "I trust you sent the message."

As expected the eunuch stepped from out of the darkness and into the fire's light. "Indeed I did, My Prince." The Spider withdrew a hand from his cloak, "And I have a reply." Bruce held his hand out for the message, never bothering to look at the eunuch, instead he continued to stare into the crackeling fire. Varys laid the message in the prince's out stretched hand. Bruce's fingers curled around it but when his fingers met no parchment and instead met into a fist he finally looked at his hand.

Bruce's throat tightened when he saw the rose that had been put into his hand. He scowled at it and stood up. After he held it in between his fingers for long while, he finally addressed the eunuch, "Take me to her." Varys was taken aback by the prince's request, "I do not think that a wise choice, My Lord." Bruce's face quick turned into a snarl, "Either you take me to her, and no one need ever know. Or I charge in there and wake the whole of the Red Keep to find her." Bruce was unsure if he actually meant what he said but the eunuch felt he did as he pulled the black hood tighter round his head, "Follow me." Said the Spider as he began to leave the room.

Varys led the Crown Prince through a dozen different blackened corridors and empty passages. The castle was totally devoid of life, draped in the black cloak of night. The further on the eunuch led him the harded the grip around Bruce's heart became. Eventually, Varys led him to a narrow corridor. The walls were lined with various paintings on one side and a number of large windows that had moonlight streaming. Lord Varys went up to one of the paintings and drew his hand across it he then tried to pull on the frame. When it wouldn't budge he moved to the next one along, this was in full view of the moonlight. He gave a tug on the frame of the second painting.

The turning of rusting iron hindges gave way to the passage hidden behind the painting. Varys gave a quick motion of his head that gave the prince leave to enter. Bruce clambered through the frame and together, he and Varys followed the narrow tunnel through the blackness. Bruce held his hand against the wall to give him some direction of where to go.

The tunnel led them on into the dark. They moved down stairs and up, through the side of walls and behind tapestries. It seemed to go on forever until finally the eunuch placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder that haulted him. Varys motioned to a tapestry he held open and Bruce stepped out of the tunnel. Bruce looked around and recognized himself to be in the Maidenvault. The hallway was empty much like the rest of the Red Keep. A few torches were lit across the walls, they cast an orange glow on the green and gold patterns which now adorned this end of the castle.

Varys pointed out which door was the one to her chambers. "I trust you will be able to find your way back?" Asked the eunuch. Bruce gave a gentle nod and dismissed him as he stepped toward the door he had been pointed. When Bruce placed his hand on the door knob his stomach began to turn itself into knots. Was this a good idea? Had the wine gone to his head and brought him here? Should he knock? His head was rife with such thoughts, but he dismissed them, tightened his grip around the rose still in his hand and pushed the door open.

Her room was covered in deep greens and rich gold and candles cast a dim glow across the room. She knew he'd come, damn her. She sat writing letters near the window, brown-haired, slender and beautiful. Bruce looked at the rose and then back to her and flung it toward her. "It's been a long time since I recieved one these." She didn't look at him when she answered, "I didn't think you would take so long." She set down the quill and rose to stare out of the window.

Bruce didn't know what to do, if he should stay where he stood as his head told him to or move closer to her as he wanted to. He chose the former as he spoke, "Paitence and discretion are often needed when sneaking through the Red Keep." She continued to refrain from looking at him, "You were lacking both when we last met." She wasn't cold or scathing just stating fact.

Bruce's eye narrowed at the back of her head. "Look at me." He commanded. It took her off guard if nothing else. She stiffened slightly at his words but obeyed the order none the less. Margaery wore a simple green night robe to cover up her small clothes beneath. When she caught sight of the tattered linen wrapped around the Crown Prince's face the tips of her mouth dropped. "I'm sorry for what happened to your eye."

His jaw tightened at that, he didn't want an apology. "So am I." He said. Her look didn't change, she had been expecting it. 'I haven't changed that much then.' Thought Bruce as he watched the Tyrell girl walk round her table. He approached her now, slowly, testing the waters. She picked up a small box on the edge of the table, and turned back to face him.

"When I heard of your wound, I had this made." Margaery held out the box for him to take. He raised his eyebrow at the box and looked to her face for any notion of what it would be. When it became apparent her look would not betray her, he took the box from her hand and laid it on the table to open it.

The box itself was a simple wooden thing no intricate carvings or jewels engraved in the working. He opened the box to find it was lined with padded cotton. In the center of it was a folded piece of red cloth. "It would have been a nameday gift, but you had not woken." she told him sadly as he plucked it from the box.

He unfolded the red cloth to look more closely at it. Lined with golden thread and the words _Hear me Roar!_ it was undoubtedly beautiful, but Bruce didn't understand it's purpose. Until he found the center piece of the workings. All the gold thread that trimmed the edges met in the center to form a golden cat's eye. 'No!' Bruce told himself, 'A lion's eye.' He laid the replacement eye back into it's box and close it, smiling. "Do you like it?" She asked him.

He wasn't entirely sure why he kissed her, it must have just been easier than saying thank you. Her lips felt soft againsts his and he smiled at the long lost feeling of them together like this. She pushed back against him lightly to bring her hands up to brush along his face. Bruce's head was spinning, be it from the wine or her. A wild thought suddenly struck him. She had expected him to come, she was in nothing but her night robe and small clothes and when he kissed her she did not push him away and throw him from her chambers. Could she... want what he did.

He broke away from her, breathless and panted out, "I... You... Can we..." She brushed her hand along the hairs that lined the prince's jaw and shook her head, "No." Her words cut deep into him further than Loras' sword had. "Why?" Her brown eyes bore into his green one longingly, "I'm to be the queen. It wouldn't be proper." A growl erupted in the back of the prince's throat. "I don't remember that being a problem in Highgarden."

She turned her head fom him. "This is not Highgarden. It's too dangerous." Margaery insisted. "It was dangerous in the Reach as well." He reminded her. She turned from him "We're not children anymore." He coiled his hands around her and drew Margaery back to him. "Which means we can be smarter about it." He pressed a daring kiss to the back of her neck, "I know this castle. I know a few secret passages that can bring me to here every night." That seemed to peak her intrest, "Every night?" He trailed a line of kisses up her jaw line, "Every. Night."

She shook her head and broke away from him. For a moment Bruce felt as though he had lost. "Not tonight." She told him and walked back to the window. "When?" Questioned the prince. She gave him a sly smile, "Eager?" She let out a small laugh when she saw the Crown Prince's cheeks turn a slighter deeper shade of red. "My grandmother arrives in the city tomorrow. She invited Sansa Stark to sup with us, come and see me then and I'll tell you." Bruce felt his heart swell at her words. He gave her a low bow, "Until the morrow then." She gave him a smile and a returned the curtsy, "The morrow."


	38. Margaery I

**Master of Dragons God****:** Can she not do both?

**DannyMcDingles:** I'm interested as to what Bruce's super villain name would be. Golden Eye? Dr von Stag Killer?

**EroSlackerMicha:** What is a bad decision?

**big allen****:** Don't worry. He'll accidentally choke on his pigeon pie soon

**Saint River****:**Or unless he's married by then

**greenstripe: ** Well I imagine most people would like to lead Bruce by he dick if they could

**naleight:** The only way he'd be able to know if she was alive for certain was if she got captured, and since she hasn't she's still on the 'is she dead or isn't she' list.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Margaery<span>**

Lord Mace Tyrell and his entourage had been housed behind the royal sept, in the long slate-roofed keep that had been called the Maidenvault since King Baelor the Blessed had confined his sisters therein, so the sight of them might not tempt him into carnal thoughts. Outside its tall carved doors paced Lord Mace's only daughter, Margaery.

The Flower of Highgarden was thinking hard on a number of things, chiefly the events of the morning. Margaery had gone to the King's Gate to welcome her grandmother to the city. With her went her betrothed, King Joffery. The two rode side by side through cheering crowds, Joff glittering in gilded armor and she in splendid green with a cloakflowers blowing from her shoulders. The people called out her name as she passed, held up their children for her blessing, and scattered flowers under the hooves of her horse. Her mother and grandmother followed close behind, riding in a tall wheelhouse whose sides were carved into the shape of a hundred twining roses, every one gilded and shining. The smallfolk cheered them as well.

The king had put on a good enough show to be certain, he was calm and courteous, holding the reins of her horse while she descended from it's back. But there were rumours about the king, that he was not all a kind comely as he appeared, rumours which compared him more to the Mad King than the gallant Prince Rhaegar apperance he seemed to enjoy having.

Margaery thought back to what Bruce had told her of his brother during their days together in Highgarden. She told him how his sworn-shield, Sandor Clegane butchered a girl Bruce had take a liking to, how he had opened the belly of a pregnant cat to see the kittens inside and how he laughed when he presented the gift to his little brother and mother. It all put on for a pretty bleak picture of the good this reason Margaery's grandmother, Lady Olenna, had invited the two who would know best the truth of the king; the king's ex-betrothed, Sansa Stark, and his brother, Crown Prince Bruce.

Bruce smiled at the thought of the prince. She remembered the way he had so comfortably laid kisses on her neck last night. In truth, Margaery had expected a more subtled and awkward feel to their reunion but the wine she had tasted on his lips proved he had taken a bit of extra courage to face her. She had not expected him to want to continue their relations but he seemed most determined for it to continue. Indeed she was wary of the risks but the prince was no fool, he knew this castle as well as she knew Highgarden and they had never been caught then.

Thought the prince was now far different from how he had been back then. He was no longer the timid foster fresh from the hard years of tutleage of Tywin Lannister. He now towered a full head above her and the way his long raven hair fell down the sides of his face and met the long hairs that brushed out from along his jaw and cheeks gave him the look similar to that of a lion.

She rembered when she had visited his chambers while he was still floating on the brink. The way the bandages that lined his face made him look so vulnerable she had wanted to cry and once she had gone back to her chambers she had, both for him and her brother. Whispers had reached her ears that it had been Loras that had taken the prince's eye away. If this was true then it was a certainty that the young Lion would be aiming to settle the score, exactly to what extent he would take it Margaery dared not to imagine.

So now she paced outside the doors of the Maidenvault waiting for the first of her invitations to arrive. Standing vigil beside the doors were her grandmother's guards. The twins stood in gilded halfhelms and green cloaks edged in gold satin, the golden rose of Highgarden sewn on their breasts. Both were seven-footers, wide of shoulder and narrow of waist, magnificently muscled.

It was then Lady Margaery saw her brother, Garlan with Lady Stark trailing on his arm as they came about the corner. Margaery swept toward the Stark girl and her brother. "Lady Sansa," she called, "I'm so pleased you came. Welcome to our humble home in the capital." Sansa knelt at the feet of her future queen. "You do me great honor, Your Grace." Margaery smiled at the 'Your Grace.'

"Won't you call me Margaery? Please, rise. Garlan, help the Lady Sansa to her feet. Might I call you Sansa?" Garlan helped the girl up. "If it pleases you." She permitted Margaery. Margaery dismissed her brother with a sisterly kiss, and took Sansa by the hand. "Come, my grandmother awaits, and she is not the most patient of ladies."

"The Queen of Thorns, she's called. Isn't that right?" Margaery gave a warm laugh. "It is. You'd best not use that name in her presence, though, or you're like to get pricked." Margaery led the Stark girl throgh the Maidenvault and into the gardens behind it where her grandmother lay in wait. Their feet crunched under the gravel path as they walked down to where the Lady's of the Tyrell household had gathered.

Margaery pointed out her lady mother tall, dignified, Lady Alerie, her cousins Megga and Alla and Elinor, Lady Fossoway, her brother's wife, and the dozen others in their various gagles that surrounded their cheif. Last of all, Margaery brought her before the wizened, white-haired, woman who stood watching over them all. "I am honored to present my grandmother the Lady Olenna, of House Tyrell."

"Kiss me, child," Lady Olenna said, presenting Sansa with a soft spotted hand. "It is so kind of you to sup with me and my foolish flock of hens." Dutifully, th Stark girl kissed the old woman on her out-stretched hand. "It is kind of you to have me, my lady." Margaery's grandmother smiled at the girl, "I knew your grandfather, Lord Rickard." Sansa seemed to be taken by surprised by that, "He died before I was born."

"Indeed he did, child. I am told your mother's father is dying too. He is old though not so old as me. Still the Stranger comes for us all in the end. You would know that more than most, poor child. We are sorry for your losses." Sansa cast a glance over at Margaery, "I was saddened when I heard of Lord Renly's death, Your Grace. He was very gallant." Margaery gave her a tight smile, "You are kind to say so."

Her grandmother snorted. "Gallant, yes, and charming, and very clean. He knew how to dress and he knew how to smile and he knew how to bathe, and somehow he got the notion that this made him fit to be king. The Baratheons have always had some queer notions. It comes from their Targaryen blood, I should imagine." She sniffed. "They tried to marry me to a Targaryen once, but I soon put an end to that."

"Renly was brave and gentle, Grandmother," said Margaery, respectfully. "Father liked him as well, and so did Loras." Olenna snorted again, "Loras is young," Lady Olenna said crisply, "and very good at knocking men off horses with a stick. That does not make him wise. He took the Lannister prince's eye and made for the hills with his tail between his legs before making sure the job was done." The pit of Margaery's stomach tightened at the thought of the job being done. "He should have remembered Lord Tywin's favourite words. As to your oaf father, someone should have beaten some sense into his fat head."

"Grandmother," Margaery said feinting shock at her words, "mind your words, or what will Sansa think of us?" Her grand mother smiled at her, "She might think we have some wits about us." The old woman turned back to Sansa. "It's treason, I warned them, Robert has three sons, and Renly has an older brother. How can he possibly have any claim to that ugly iron chair? Another one of these queer notions all Baratheons seem to have."

"Surely not all Baratheons, Lady Olenna." said a voice from behind Margaery. The three of them looked to see who had spoken and they saw the Crown Prince approaching them. The prince was wearing the colours of his father's house on a tunic, with the his lion skin cloak drooped over his shoulders. A ruby studded circlet adorned the top of his head and across his eye the red and gold eye patch Margaery had given him. All in all he certainly looked rather more impressive than he had last night, much to the delight of the younger girls in the garden who swooned over the dashing prince.

Bruce bowed to them and they all returned the curtsy. Margaery's grandmother was quick to retort to the prince's question, "Despite your looks you are far from a Baratheon, are you not?" Bruce flashed her a smile, "I do," He confessed, "Though it is only fitting that the future Lord of Casterly Rock to act as his predecessor." The lips of Margaery's grandmother tightened, "Especially when that predecessor is Tywin Lannister." Bruce gave an honest shrug.

"Come," Said Lady Olenna, turning from them and toward a pavillion, inside of which was a long table with four chairs around it, "Shall we have some lemon cakes?" Margaery saw a small smile appear on Sansa's face, "Lemon cakes are my favorite," She admitted. "So we have been told," declared Lady Olenna.

"Sit with me, Sansa." Said the Queen of Thorns as she sat down in one of the chairs around the table. "Do you know my son, Sansa? The Lord of Highgarden?" Sansa shook her head, "I've heard he is a great lord." she answered politely. "A great oaf," said the Queen of Thorns. "His father was an oaf as well. My husband, the late Lord Luthor. A kind man, and not unskilled in the bedchamber, but an appalling oaf all the same. He managed to ride off a cliff whilst hawking. They say he was looking up at the sky and paying no mind to where his horse was taking him."

Margaery sat down opposite Sansa and Bruce next to Margaery. She gave him a sly look and if she didn't know any better he had given her a wink, though with only one eye it could have been just an innocent blink.

Her grandmother continued her rant to the Stark girl, "And now my oaf son is doing the same, only he's riding a lion instead and that's no easy feat as I'm sure you know." The way Lady Olenna flicked her eyes toward her made Margaery think that the last part was directed at her. "Now," said Lady Olenna, leaning toward Sansa, "I want you both to tell me the truth about this royal boy, this Joffrey."

The Stark girl stiffened up at the words and Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I... I... I..." Stammered out the Stark girl fixing quick, sharp, glances between the other three. "You, You, You." Parroted Lady Olenna, "Who would know better? We have heard some troubling tales. Is there any truth to them? Has this boy mistreated you?" Sansa glanced about nervously toward the prince and her gazed stayed there for a while.

"Joff... King Joffrey, he's... His Grace is very fair and handsome, and... and as brave as a lion." Margaaey's grandmother was less than impressed with the girl's answer. "Yes, all the Lannisters are lions, and when a Tyrell empties their bowels the leavings smell just like a rose. Come now, child. Tell us the truth." Margaery could tell by the way she kept looking toward Bruce that it was him stopping her from doing just that.

She leaned back toward the prince and whispered into his ear, "She's terrified of you, reasure her that you won't hurt her for what she says." Bruce looked to her with a frown but relented with a roll of his eye. "Sansa," He said to her, "You remember back on the Trident with your sister and Joffery." The girl nodded, "And you remember in the Throne Room with Ser Meryn and Boros." She nodded again, "Then you know that so long as I can help it no harm will come to you for telling the truth about Joffery."

The girl seemed to take comfort from the prince's words, but then she looked saddened, "My father always told the truth." Lady Olenna nodded at the Stark girl, "Lord Eddard, yes, he had that reputation, but they named him traitor and took his head off even so." "Joffery." Insisted the Stark girl, "Joffery did that. He cut my father's head off and called it mercy. Then... Then he took me up to the walls and made me look at." The girl began to sob now and Margaery shared a look with her grandmother as the girl wept out between tears,

"He had his guards beat me once. Afterwards I asked him why. He said 'You are a traitor. Your father was a traitor. You have traitor's blood.' Once... Once I saw him go out of the g... gates of the Red Keep and shot a woman who had come to the Keep begging for food... Just a normal woman... he didn't even no her name... and he put a bolt through her neck with his crossbow... I know now... Now that he no longer has to wed me... One day he will shoot me too..."

"He won't shoot you." Said Bruce darkly. When Margaery looked to him she was frightened by the look on his face. He didn't look angry or shocked by the revelation, just a quiet look of knowing of the horrors of which the Stark girl had faced. "He won't kill you because he enjoys you too much. He enjoys you so much he'll never let you wear the scars he gives you. He murdered the woman at the gate because she was nothing to him, just another ant beneath his boot. But when he sees you, he sees the chance to prove to everyone that he is the most powerful man in the room, and because you're a traitor he knows that no one can stop him from doing as he pleases. He wants everyone to see what he can do and why he is the most powerful man in all Seven Kingdoms. And so long as there is nobody to protect you he will keep going on with the torment until either you die or he dose."

Margaery exchanged looks with her grandmother, "What a pity." she tutted. "Please," blurted out the Stark girl, "don't stop the wedding!" Lady Olenna shook her head at the notion, "Have no fear, Lord Oaf is determined that Margaery shall be queen. Though, we thank you for the truth, child."

A servant approached the table and laid a plate of cakes on the table in front of Margaey, he then turned and addressed the prince, "My Lord, a man from the City Watch has asked for your presence at the River Gate. He says the issue is of paramount importance." Bruce held his dark look for a moment after the messenger had left before he rose, "Apologies, Your Grace, My Ladies. I fear I shall not be able to sup with you." Margaery rose along with him, "I will escort you out." she declared ignoring the raised eye brow her grandmother gave he as she spoke.

Margaery linked her arm with Bruce's as they walked away from her grandmother's pavillion. "What are you planning to do with her? asked Bruce once they were out of earshot of Lady Olenna. "Who?" questioned Margaery, hoping to leave the topic alone. "Don't play me for a fool." Warned the prince as they walked, "If you wanted to know what Joffery was really like you would have either just sent for me or asked a nearby servant." Margaery was quick to defend the presence of the Stark girl. "Sansa was to be his wife-"

"And I am his brother. Which is more likely to be a more reliable source?" She sighed. There was little point in lying any more. "Sansa is an inoscent girl. My grandmother only wishes to see her out of harms way." Bruce snorted as they entered the Maidenvault, "And I suppose in her mind out of harms way would be in Highgarden." Margaery's eyes narrowed at the side of the prince's head, he had gotten smarter as well as taller. "You won't give us away, will you?" she pleaded. "No." He answered, "As you said, she's an innocent girl. She needs to be free of Joffery."

They approached the doors the prince craned his head toward and whispered, "When might I visit you? Tonight?" A small smile graced the tips of her face as they exited the Maidenvault. "Tonight." she confirmed removing her arm from his. He held onto her hand and brought it to his face and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Your Gace." He said with a low bow and departed. Her hand tingled where he had placed his lips and light blush began to form across her cheeks as she thought to how much she would enjoy tonight.


	39. Tyrion VII

**big allen**

**just some guy****: **Yes he probably would

**DannyMcDingles: **I should hope so

**Saint River: **Indeed. Alas it is not to be

**Archagel9418:** Alas we still have a while to wait

* * *

><p><strong><span>Tyrion<span>**

It was quickly becoming apparent to Tyrion that he and his nephew would be destined to be late for all their Small Council meetings, as they walked up the steps of the Tower of the Hand. Close to an hour Tyrion had wadled about the Red Keep looking for his nephew, only to find him still asleep in his bed. "I thought you'd had enough of lying around in bed." complained Tyrion as they entered the corridor leading to the new council chambers.

"I had a late night." Defended Bruce as he stifled another yawn. 'I can scarcely imagine.' thought Tyrion as he pushed the door to the Council Chambers open. Inside the room the various council members were lined up along a wall and looked to the two Lannisters as they entered through the door.

At the head of the room, infront of the long table, stood Tyrion's father who gave Tyrion and his nephew a quiet glare before he took the seat at the head of the table. Upon their entering the other Lords scrambled for their seats without even a second glance at Tyrion or Bruce. First was Grand Maester Pycelle as close as possible to Lord Tywin and by default as far away from Tyrion as he could get. Then the new Lord of Harrenhal with his twinkling eyes and carefully crafted beard. After Baelish came Lord Tyrell, the once powerful man gone to the fat with his balding head and great beard flecked with white. Beside him was Lord Varys, his soft powdered hands resting on the table.

Finally came Cersei, who had placed herself with a great amount of elegance and grace by her father's side, clearly annoyed with having to wait for so long. Tyrion tried to share a quick glance with Bruce but realised when he saw the the scarlett and gold cloth around his head he would be better off trying to get Varys to have childeren.

They took their seats at the opposite end of the table to Lord Tywin, the old Hand faced the new and Bruce facing both his mother and the Spider. All the Lords looked down the table for Lord Tywin to start their first topic. "The war first," Said the King's Hand crisply and gestured to the eunuch, "Varys."

The eunuch's smile was a silken one. "I have such delicious tidings for you all, my lords. Yesterday at dawn our brave Lord Randyll caught the Karstark's advance on the kingsroad. Losses were heavy on both sides, but in the end our loyal men prevailed." Lord Tyrell gave a firm hooting, "Gods be praised! A great victory for King Joffrey!"

'What did Joffrey have to do with it?' thought Tyrion. "And a terrible defeat for the north, yes," observed Littlefinger, "yet one in which Robb Stark played no part. The Young Wolf remains unbeaten in the field." Bruce now added his voice tothe meeting. "What do we know of Stark's plans and movements?" Varys gave the prince his answer, "He has run back to Riverrun with his plunder, abandoning the castles he took in the west. His grandfather Lord Hoster is dying and the boy hopes to see the funeral,"

Lord Tywin cleared his throat. "As regards the Starks... Balon Greyjoy, who now styles himself King of the Isles and the North, has written to us offering terms of alliance." Cersei has quick to snap at that, "He ought to be offering fealty. By what right does he call himself king?" The question had been to her father but it was her son who answered, "By right of conquest. King Balon is strangling the Neck. Robb Stark's brothers are dead, Winterfell is fallen, and the ironmen hold Moat Cailin. King Balon's longships command the sunset sea, and are well placed to menace Lannisport, The Rock, Fair Isle, and even Highgarden, should we provoke him."

"What terms does he propse?" Inquired Mace Tyrell. "That we recognize his kingship and grant him everything north of the Neck." answered Lord Tywin. Lord Littlefinger laughed, "Greyjoy will trade swords and sails for stone and snow, I say do it, and count ourselves lucky." Lord Tyrell was quick to chime his agreement, "That's what I would do. Let King Balon finish the northmen whilst we finish the Riverlanders."

Lord Tywin's face gave no hint as to his feelings. "There is Lysa Arryn to deal with as well. Jon Arryn's widow, Hoster Tully's daughter, Catelyn Stark's sister... whose husband was believed to be conspiring with Stannis Baratheon at the time of his death." Tyrell was quick to rebuff Lord Lannister, "Women have no stomach for war," He cheerfully said, "she has not committed any overt acts of treason."

Tyrion was quick to be stirred. "She did throw me in a cell and put me on trial for my life. Nor has she returned to King's Landing to swear fealty to Joff, as she was commanded. My lords, grant me the men, and I will sort out Lysa Arryn." He could think of nothing he would enjoy more, except perhaps strangling Cersei. Mace Tyrell's smile was jovial, but behind it Tyrion sensed contempt. "Perhaps you'd best leave the fighting to fighters," said the Lord of Highgarden. "Better men than you have lost great armies in the Mountains of the Moon, or shattered them against the Bloody Gate."

Tyrion bristled at the jib. He had fought in more battles in one year than Tyrell had in twenty. Tyrell's reputation rested on one indecisive battle. The siege of Storm's End, where Mace Tyrell had dragged on a year to no result, and after the Trident was fought, the Lord of Highgarden had meekly dipped his banners to Ned Stark.

Lord Tywin brought forward a solution, "I think that new Lord of Harrenhal would be able to keep the widow Arryn under the king's peace." Baelish graced his face with the ghost of a smile, "Indeed," There was mischief in his eyes. "My lords, with your leave, I propose to travel to the Vale and there woo and win Lady Lysa Arryn. Once I am her consort, I shall deliver you the Vale of Arryn without a drop of blood being spilled."

"That would make you acting Lord of the Vale." said a wary Bruce sharing a look with Varys. "Indeed. Titles seem to breed titles." retorted the Master-of-Coin. Tyrion knew that there would be little point in protesting. It has all been settled beforehand, this discussion's no more than show.

Naturally, it fell to Tyrion to object. "Far be it my place to get in the way of true love, but we are at war, not a good time to leave the Crown finaces unattended. How are we to settle Crown debt with our wizard of gold all the way in the Vale?" Littlefinger smiled. "My little friend is too kind. All I do is count coppers, as King Robert used to say. Any clever tradesman could do as well . . . and a Lannister, blessed with the golden touch of Casterly Rock, will no doubt far surpass me." "A Lannister?" Tyrion had a bad feeling about this. "I am naming you Master-of-Coin." Lord Tywin told his son.

Before Tyrion could give any protests Lord Tyrell chipped in, "May we return to the matter of the Greyjoy alliance? In my view, there is much to be said for it. Greyjoy's longships will augment Lord Redwyne's fleet and give us sufficient strength at sea to assault Dragonstone should Stannis become a greater problem."

"King Balon's longships are occupied for the nonce," Bruce said politely, "as are we. Greyjoy demands half the kingdom as the price of alliance, but what will he do to earn it? Fight the Starks? He is doing that already. Why should we pay for what he has given us for free? The best thing to do about our lord of Pyke is nothing. Granted enough time, a better option may well present itself. One that does not require the king to give up half his kingdom." It was fast becoming apparent to Tyrion that when it came to warfare Bruce and Lord Tywin were of one mind.

"Perhaps we ought move on to the wedding," Cersei said. It was tedious work to say the least. Cersei detailed the plans she had been making for the feast. They would feed a thousand in the throne room, but many more outside in the yards. The outer and middle wards would be tented in silk, with tables of food and casks of ale for all those who could not be accommodated within the hall. "Your Grace," said Grand Maester Pycelle, "in regard to the number of guests... we have had a raven from Sunspear. Three hundred Dornishmen are riding toward King's Landing as we speak, and hope to arrive with in a weeks time."

How do they come?" asked Mace Tyrell gruffly. "They have not asked leave to cross my lands." His thick neck had turned a dark red, Tyrion noted. Dornishmen and Highgardeners had never had great love for one another; over the centuries, they had fought border wars beyond count, and raided back and forth across mountains and marches even when at peace. The enmity had waned a bit after Dorne had become part of the Seven Kingdoms until a Dornish prince they called the Red Viper had crippled the young heir of Highgarden in a tourney. 'This could be ticklish,' the dwarf thought, waiting to see how his father would handle it.

"Prince Doran comes at my invitation," Lord Tywin said calmly, "to join in our celebration, and to claim his seat on this council. His daughter Arianne rides with him." Tyrion raised his eye brow at that. If Doran's unmarried daughter rode by his side that would only mean one thing. The Imp looked across to his nephew and saw his face reddening, clearly he was having the same thoughts.

"When the king is wed to your Margaery and Myrcella to Prince Trystane, we shall all be one great House," Varys reminded Mace Tyrell, Tyrion mentally added Bruce and Arianne to the equation, "The enmities of the past should remain there, would you not agree, my lord?" The Lord of Highgarden's face reddened. "This is my daughter's wedding-"

"-and my grandson's," said Lord Tywin firmly. "No place for old quarrels, surely?" Mace bristled, "I have no quarrel with Doran Martell," insisted Lord Tyrell, though his tone was more than a little grudging. "If he wishes to cross the Reach in peace, he need only ask my leave." Small chance of that. If the Martell's were hoping to reach the capital in a weeks time as Pycelle had said, no doubt they were already half way across the Reach.

The topic was left alone after that despite the temper of the Master-at-Arms seeming to be even more displeased than the red face Lord of the Reach. Varys had lists of the dead from the Battle of King's Landing, Forty-seven lesser lordlings and six hundred nineteen knights of the Reach had lost their lives to the defenders of the River Gate and the harbour, much to the silent pride of Prince Bruce and great annoyance of Lord Tyrell.

It was then the fate of those that had fled the battle after the usurper king's death came about. "Some ten thousand men of the Storm Land's have rallied to Ser Loras, just south of the Kingswood." reported Varys. Cersei reared her head at this. "Traitors." claimed the Queen Regent, "You should have Lord Tarly march on them at once and bring your boy to heel." The Lord of Highgarden seemed flumoxed by how to respond. "I... Your Grace, Loras in young and loved his king dearly-"

"Joffery is his king now." Said the king's own brother firmly, "To deny it is treason, and punishable by death." For the threat to be any clearer Bruce would have had to have the Knight of Flowers on a chopping block. "Y... Yes, he will return and bow to Joffery soon. I promise." Said Lord Tyrell, seemingly coming to tears at the thought of seeing his favourite son's head roll. "See that he does." Warned Bruce, his golden cat's eye seeming to shimmer as it bore into Lord Mace's own.

Lord Tywin looked to Lord Varys. "Is there more?" The eunuch shook his head. "We are done. My lords, His Grace King Joffrey would no doubt wish to thank you all for your wisdom and good counsel." They all rose to leave but The Hand of the King was not yet done, "I should like private words with my children and my grandson." Tyrion looked to Bruce who seemed to have no inkling of moving any where.

Obediently, the other councillors made their farewells, Varys the first to depart and Tyrell the last. When the chamber was empty but for the four Lannisters, Tyrion saw fit to break the silence. "Master of coin?" said Tyrion in a thin strained voice. "Whose notion was that?" His father was quick to answer, "Lord Petyr's. But nevermind about that now. Baelish has brought us word of a Tyrell plot to spirit Sansa Stark off to Highgarden for a 'visit' and there marry her to one of Lord Mace's sons."

Tyrion leaned against the table. "Littlefinger brought you word? Not our master of whisperers? How interesting." Bruce squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, "Do we really need to care? Sansa's life has been torture since her father's death. Let them take her away, so long as she stays here the more Joffery can flex his weight around." Tyrion was quick to add to his nephew's argument, "The Tyrell army is helping us to fight the war. Would it be wise to refuse them?"

Lord Tywin bristled, "There's nothing to refuse this is a plot. Something they can't risk carrying out untill after Joffery's wedding. We need to act fast if we are to stop them." Bruce leaned back in his chair runnung hand through his raven hair, "Wonderful. How do we do that?" Lord Tywin looked right at Tyrion when he answered, "We find the Stark girl a diiferent husband." Tyrion squirmed higher in his seat and said, "You mean to wed me to Sansa Stark. That's cruel even for you."

"Why, do you plan to mistreat her?" His father seemed to be more curious than concerned. "The girl's happiness is not my important. Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark." Tyrion's argument was thinning fast, "She's a child." How Tyrion wished he slap the smirk off his sister's face. "She's flowered I assure you. Surely all you need to do now is take her maidenhead."

"Why me?!" Tyrion pleaded to his father, "Why not Bruce?" His nephew scowled and growled at him but Tyrion didn't care. "Arianne Martell rides with Prince Doran for a reason," Said Lord Tywin, his green eyes flicking toward his grandson, "I trust you will find her to your liking." Bruce turned his snarl on his grandfather, "You promised me a choice." He spat.

"Yes, I had planned to give you one. However, we intercepted a raven from Riverrun. It was a proposal from Robb Stark to marry his uncle Edmure to the princess. Such an alliance would over turn the one we have between Myrcella and Prince Trystane." Somehow, Tyrion doubted Bruce would take this as a descent enough reason as he quietened to stew in his own juices.

Lord Tywin now turned to his daughter, "Bruce and Tyrion will do their duty and you will do yours." "How?" asked Cersei. "By marriage. Yours." It came so suddenly that Cersei could only stare while her cheeks reddened as if she had been slapped. "No. Not again. I will not." The tone in their father's voice mage for certain that the matter was not open for discussion, "You will. You are my daughter, and will do as I command." She stood. "I will not sit here and listen to this-"

"You will if you wish to have any voice in the choice of your next husband," Lord Tywin said calmly. When she hesitated, then sat, Tyrion knew she was lost, despite her loud declaration of, "I will not marry again!" Their father was just as adament, "You will marry and you will breed. I assume you do not object to wedding a man younger than yourself?" Tyrion could not quite suppress the grin that came to his lips.

"I object to wedding any-" Lord Tywin went on. "Our alliance with Highgarden needs to be firmed and made stronger. Lord Tyrell has three sons, Ser Garlan is wed to one of the Fossoways, but there remains the eldest son, Willas-" Tyrion smirked, "That would be the cripple," he said, but Tywin ignored him, "And the youngest, Loras-" Bruce gave a deep growl from the mention of the Kinght of Flowers, "The coward."

Tyrion pitied both Tyrell boys, and did not know whether he wanted to laugh at his sister or weep for her. "The Tyrell heir would be my choice," Lord Tywin concluded, "but if you would prefer the other, I will hear your reasons." In truth, Tyrion doubted the likeliness of his sister's marriage to either of the Tyrell's. If Ser Loras showed his face in the capital Tyrion suspect he catch a case of sword-through-eye syndrome from his soon to be brother-in-law. And if Cersei was to wed the cripple, unfortunate Willas Tyrell was like to contract a sudden fatal case of sword-through-bowels upon the return of Jaime. Either one looked to sour the alliance between Highgarden and Casterly Rock.

"Now," said Lord Tywin rising from the table, "I have work to do and I know you all some to do as well. You may go." They dismissed themselves in turn, Cersei went first and Tyrion last. Once outside Tyrion heard his nephew's fist bang against the stone wall, "Bastard promised me a choice." Tyrion frowned at his nephew's complaint. There was less than five years between him and the Martell girl, Tyrion and Sansa Stark had a good ten a least, the thought made him pale. "Come," the Imp said to his nephew, "I need a good drink."


	40. Margaery II

**greenstripe****: **Dornishmen always make things more exciting

**DannyMcDingles****: **Thanks.

**Saint River****: **Probably the same reasons as to why he'd marry Trystane to Myrcella, plus a extra prompts from Tywin and the fact that Bruce is heir to Casterly Rock

**Mikle Silver**: It's hard to marry someone when they've had molten gold poured all over their head

**Silver crow**: Don't go putting ideas into head.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Margaery<span>**

It was becoming both tiresome and tedious, all this wedding planning. Not just for her own but for the others due too take place as well. It was funny to Margaery in a way, three Lannisters due to be married within a few weeks of each other. The Lion would wed the Sun, the Imp would wed the Wolf and the King would wed the Rose. All of it would make for a pretty nice song Margaery was to be sure.

She was also sure that nobody was entirely happy with their marriage. Sansa Stark had been promised she would no longer have to suffer in King's Landing anymore, that she would be able to leave this place which had been responible for so much torment and hurt. Oh how she wept when she had been told she would wed the Imp. Naturally, Margaery had tried her best to comfort the poor girl, trying to fill her head with promises that all was not lost, that Lord Tyrion was a good and honourable man and that he would treat her far kinder to her than Joffery. She had accepted these arguments but the Stark girl still mourned her aborted marriage into the Tyrell Household.

Bruce was taking his impending marriage as expected. He would bear it calmly masking his anyoance to those who spoke to him but make a great show of himself and his displeasure to those who were unlucky enough to press the issue. Then at night he come to her, they would fuck, and then he would speak mournfully of past times and how they would never be together and say that so long as it was in his power he would not wed the Martell girl.

It was all a farce of course. Despite all his protests and tall talk, he would do as he was bid, he would marry the Martell princess and he would sire childeren to her and not Margaery. Still it fell to Margaery to calm his head and prepare him for his inevitable marriage to Princess Arianne. She assured him that he and the princess would be happy together. Margaery relayed the rumours she had inquired to, about how beautiful the Martell girl was, of the firey tempered heiress to Dorne. All in all it proved for little more than nought. Bruce would not be budge in his uncertainty of his matching with Lady Arianne, at least until his wedding night Margaery was sure.

In truth Margaery was having much the same feelings about her own wedding. From what she could tell, everyone of her fears about the King were true. All Bruce had warned her of many years ago in Highgarden, the terrible rumours spoken by commoner and noble alike, everything Sansa Stark had feared of her once betrothed, down to the last detail were true. He hid it well enough, that much was beyond doubt, however the truth was still plain to see if you looked hard enough.

In truth it mattered little, to be queen, Margaery could suffer through a husband like Joffery, she had suffered under Renly who was not 'fond' of her to say the least. But under Joffery, who seemed to be most pleased with her, it would be a far easier task of being queen with some who would prefer you to your brother.

And so, as queen to be, Margaery was heavily involved in planning and preperation for all the weddings. Certainly, it was all tedious work but tiring none the less. So as she did every night Margaery walked back to her room with the aim of resting her weary head and bones, hoping at the prospect of her lover's arrival she may finally find some genuine relaxation before rising again for tomorrow's headaches.

The Red Keep was not called so for no reason. Even at night the red stone work had a deep crimson glow to it, and the odd few torches lit only seemed to turn the wall upon which they were placed a brighter shade that only boarder on orange, but was still indeniably red. Despite the attemps of Lord Tyrell's men to change the overall red shine on the Maidenvault with bright greens and golds of the Reach, the feel of the place was still that of the castle's natural gloomy, dark appearance.

Margaery looked curiously to some of the tapestrys and paintings which lined the wall outside of the her room. Bruce had told her that he knew of many secret passages and tunnels that led to a dozen different places in the castle. Every night when he left her chambers Margaery always wondered where the passage that led to the Maidenvault chambers was. As she entered her room, looking at the decorations which lined the walls opposite her chambers, she made a note to check which one hid Bruce's secret tunnel.

Once she stepped into her bedchambers and took one look around, Margaery knew immediately that something was off. The candles that sat upon her table were all lit, and from the wax that had began to melt of them they had been like that for so time, and her in her hearth a fire was burning slowly, with smoke slowly billowing out of her window.

She almost shouted out for guards but a pair of strong arms quickly wrapped around her midriff and she became all too aware of small kisses being roughly placed on her bare shoulder. Margaery turned to try and face her attacker but once her head was at the right angle the rough kisses soon found place on her lips and the strong arms roaming across her body.

The door was banged shut and one of the arms peeled off of her body to pull the latch down, much to Margaery's annoyance and gratitude. 'At least he's courteous enough to be sure we aren't going to be disturbed.' thought Margaery as the hand returned and gave a firm squeeze of her right breast. Their lips parted and Margaery finally caught a look of her attacker.

Bruce's eye was alive with mischief as he smiled down at her. She smiled back and brought an arm up to caress his face. Entangling her fingers in his soft, raven, beard Margaery coaxed his lips back to hers. Following this it did not take long for the Crown Prince to take charge of where things were headed.

His tounge pushed past her lips and skimmed across her teeth, trying to draw out her own tounge to do battle with his. Margaery's eyes fluttered shut as the prince led her forward using his body to guide them toward the bed, as his hands began to pull and paw at her garbs. With practiced hands he manages to successfully remove her clothes leaving her naked as the skin of her legs touches the delicate cloth that signaled their arrival at the bed.

She turns herself round in his arms to returns the favor, helping Bruce out of his leathers, his doublet, until he wears only a thin cotton shirt and his small clothes. It didn't take him long to have her pinned beneath him. Her hands become burried in his long hair, pushing at the back of his head, in order to be as close a possibe to him. Meanwhile, his own hands continue to roam across her body. They eventually find her breasts and she lets out a moan as her nipples begin to harden from the deft touch of his fingers.

Together, they fell onto the bed in a ferocious entanglement of possesive growling and entwining limbs. She could practically see the hunger in his eyes just before he lowered his head and took her right nipple in his mouth, making her moan and her back arch as he slowly began to suck like a new born. She could feel herself growing wet between her legs as he pressed his hardened self against her thigh. He was hard for her - the thought always made her smile.

The gasp she let out was undoubtably an involuntary one as he entered her. Bruce had little paitence for anything else aside from fucking her it seemed by the way he only focused on pumping her. She did not mind him so rough but the licks and kisses that followed the bites were torture. He was going hard, harder than he had ever gone before, filling her completely then thrusting in and out, in and out. The sound of her skin slapping against his as he pushed inside her sent her world spinning. Her hips canted upwards with every thrust and before long she began to feel the pleasure running through every part of herself. It racked through her in vicious spasms. He bit down on her shoulder to silence himself as he let out a muffled groan and emptied into her filling her with his seed.

She shuddered at the lewd, slick sound that she heard as he rolled off of her. He was giving out heavy pants as he starred up at her ceiling. The feeling of content within them both was something they had shared for a long time. It was a diffinitive fact of them both. Neither liked the nature of their relationship; all the sneaking about, the sly looks they cast at one another when they would meet during the day and the knowing that they would never be fully together.

But they would tolerate it all just to be able to share any small amount of time together and now they were more actively determined to spend as long a possible with each other as soon they would both be married and they would never risk themselves to exposure if her husband or his wife found out. Their time together was ending, but no one wanted to admit it.

Her head was laid on his flat chest listening to his steady heart beat with the sheets draped around them providing a soft, warm cocoon for them to lie in. Bruce's heart pounded like soft drumming against her ear, the sound gave her comfort and the knowledge that all was at peace within herself. Her hand trailed in soft circles on his naked belly. His hand was burried in her hair, the fingers combing through the thick, dark locks.

"I love you." She peaked her head up to him, as they were nestled together. His face wore a soft smile looking down at her and his gentle green eye lit up with loving for her, the only contrast was the piercing golden eye that bound the left of his head. She smiled back up at him and pressed a kiss to his chest before laying her head back down to his heart.

"This could be our last time together, you know." She knew, but the tone in his voice as he said it, seemed to denote he did not. "I don't want to marry her." He stated defiantly, as he sat up and untangled himself from her. She looked at him closely. Had she not known him as well as she did she might have believed that he wouldn't, with his proud jaw raised and both eyes shining valiantly. He would marry her though, and it would be Margaery's job to convince him.

Margaery crawled over the bed to sit behind him to match his posture of legs spread out across the bed. She pressed her breasts up against his back amd wrapped her arms around his torso. "I don't want you to either." She admited, lowering one hand to his thigh, only just ghosting her fingers across the skin.

He shifted against her, trying to get comfortable. When, she looked down and saw him hardening by the mere threat of a touch she smiled against his shoulder. Pressing gentle kisses along his back she moved her hand lower to graze along the skin to his member. Her fingers wrapped around him carfully as she told him. "You will marry that girl."

"I won't." He said but his breath hitched as her hand began to draw along his length. His face was going red, she could feel it, as his heart begn to beat faster against her right breast. "You will." she repeated bringing her other hand down to his groin.

His back arched against her when she flicked her tounge across the shell of his ear, "Marry the Martell girl," Margaery ordered him, the warmth of her breath tickling the prince's ear. He bucked up against her palm unconciously. "Faster." Was rasped out of his mouth so she deliberately slows her movements and ignores his protests. "Marry her and give her a child." She tells her lover as tiny noises in the back of his throat begin to find their way to her ears. "And then come back to me." It's a promise she knows she can't make but she has no choice, his guard is still water tight.

"Will you?" She asks him tightening her grip. His pride begins to slacken and his wall starts to break down but he remains firm in his decision. The Flower of Highgarden smiles and reverses her tactic and removes all touch from him immediately. He gives a loud whine at that and his back arches again.

She brings her mouth within a hair's breadth of his ear and whispers, "Will you?" He whines at the air again and begs, "I will." Bruce bucks his hips up, practically fucking at the air. "Anything. Please. Anything. Margaery, please." Using one hand she tugs on his long hair, pulling his head back so that they might look at each other and with her other hand goes back to caressing him.

Her tugs on him are still slow, lazy moves but the way he writhes against her proves that he is desperate for her to release him. He spills his seed over the sheets, and she still keeps working at it, milks it until its final drop. As his breathing slowly gets steady again, he leans back against her and pulls the covers back over the two of them.

His head is pillowed between her breasts as they lie, bodies entwined, on the sex reaking bed. She didn't like being forced to make him marry the girl, but they could never be and she at least wanted him to have a good marriage. The Dornish girl would give him that, but only if he would let her and he was too bloody stubborn to realise that.

"Will you marry her then?" She asks for the final time. He nods with heavy-lidded eyes, "If you want me to." It's a hollow victory on her part, but one she's still proud of. Arianne Martell would undoubtably marry Bruce now, but she would never no that it is only because Margaery Tyrell willed it.


	41. Bruce XII

**Saint River:** Come now, this is game of thrones of course they were fucking. And you may look to see how they interact only a little in this chapter

**Archagel9418:** I hope to do either one of those POVs but it will depend on how difficult they are to write before I make a decision

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><p><strong><span>Bruce<span>**

"Do you actually know what you're doing with that?"

Bruce growled at his uncle's words and glared at him in the mirror before he brought the razor back up to his chin. His mother and grandfather had been most insistent that he be properly cleaned and readied to greet his betrothal. Much to Bruce's disappointment, aside from a series of extra baths and brand new clothes, it had also meant he was to relieve himself of his shaving virginity.

The kiss of the cold steel across his face brought out an odd feeling of both lightening on the weight across his chin and brief state of unease removed only once he would bring the sharpened edge away. Upon his father's orders, Tyrion had been forced to make sure that the Crown Prince was presentable to the degree acceptable for a Lannister. The Imp had narrowed down all the choices of garbs which had been brought forth from the city tailors. He had also taken the liberty of having some of the jewellers forge some fresh pieces of gem studded refinery for his nephew to pick from, all of it to be paid for by Lord Tywin, much to the relief of the Master-of-Coin.

Although despite his willingness to surrender so much dictation over his attire Bruce had been most adamant as to retain certain features of himself. The first barber to come for him he had almost had thrown into the sea for turning a pair of scissors on the prince's long raven hair while he bathed. The second one had been found outside the prince's chambers with a towel gagged in his mouth and had sworn blind the King's brother meant to strangle him with it if he saw him again. The third one... well the third one had been a barber when he walked into the room, however after he was carried out of the room on a stretcher with Bruce's letter opener embedded in his left hand it was doubtful he would cut his own hair again let alone another man's.

It had taken Tyrion a good hour of talking, the repeated promise from his mother that it would soon grow back and a good three or four threats to summon Lord Tywin before Bruce had relented, though only under the strictest of circumstances. All of them had been refused by his mother of course but, after she had stormed out of the room in a huff of swirling skirts and blond hair flashing in the sun that peered through the window, Tyrion had accepted them unreservedly.

However, his uncle was not without his quips at his nephew as he began to remove the hair from across most of his face. "I hope she's fond of men without hair." Japed the Imp as Bruce began to work on his budding moustache. The Lion growled at him again and shot back, "And I hope Lady Sansa prefers chaste giants."

The dwarf leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes, half stung, half amused by the Crown Prince's jib. "As the Demon Monkey I have a certain level of standards to maintain." Bruce snorted when he saw his now hairless upper lip, "And the Lion with Antlers does not?" He didn't like the way his uncle smirked at him in the mirror. "I doubt Princess Arianne will approve at such a small sense of humour." He bit down on his tongue and retaliated with, "I'll be sure to refer her to you, master-of-small-matters."

Tyrion grew bored with trading cheap shots with the prince after that and let him finish in silence. After he deemed himself to shaved he splashed water from his basin on his face to rid himself of the remaining foam. He looked at the stranger's face that starred back at him in the looking glass. Strong jawed and cleanly shaven Bruce would have sworn he was looking at the ghost of his uncle Renly, though after he took another look, with the sea green eye, high cheek bones and close cropped whiskers, that he had not neglected to remove from himself, he supposed he might have been looking at what he had imagined Lord Tywin to might have looked like in his youth and with the golden lion's eye that looked into the glass as well Bruce was tempted to believe it as well.

The prince turned to his uncle so that he might accept his nephew's work. The Imp's eyes widened when he caught a glimpse of his nephew, obviously he had not expected to see whomever he felt Bruce to resemble without the bushy beard. The dwarf looked impressed by the work to say the least but then presented a pair of scissors and comb he had picked up while Bruce had turned his back on him. "What length does the young ser want?" Asked Tyrion his eyes lighting up in mischief and added a few practice snips at the air.

Bruce's jaw clenched and eye narrowed at the Imp before he snatched them both the comb and scissors out of his blunted fingers and turned back to the looking glass and water filled basin. He submerged his head fully in the luke warm water and ran hand through the his hair shaking it all out so that even the ends that would tickle his armpits as he slept were good an wet.

Only once he began to run low on air did he pull back out of the water. "For a moment I thought you were trying to drown yourself." sallied Tyrion as his nephew panted for air. Using the comb Bruce brushed back all his hair so that it would reach its full length at the bottom of his shoulder blades. After that he grabbed it just below the neck and gave a few snips at above of where he held it. The now loose hair came away in his fist and he caught a look, genuinely interested at how much he had taken off.

Satisfied, he set it down next to the comb and scissors and toweled his knew hair off. Once dry he caught a good look at himself brushing the front of it to the side to make better use of his one working eye. His raven locks were now just tickling at his the bottom of neck, and after he shook it out it still seemed to cover his ears and bits of it still jutted out at the back and sides. It was far more comely than it had been but still gave him the wild edge that he enjoyed people to see in him.

He fixed his eye patch and gave his sharpest grin at himself and confessed he was undoubtedly handsome, though Tyrion rolled his eye and hopped off the chair he was slouched in. "Gods," he moaned, "One shave and you're already as bad as Renly and Jaime." Bruce couldn't help but laugh.

"Come. We still have clothes to see." Said the Imp leading his nephew over to the table which had a great paraphernalia of garbs around it. Choosing right clothing proved to be almost as torturous as getting Bruce to shave, but eventually the Lion had agreed on a consensus of all Lannister red and gold for his clothes and Baratheon themed clasping's and broaches and the servants Tyrion called in went to work, helping the Prince with his attire.

The Crown Prince had a gold and scarlet tunic that ended just below the knees, across the trimming it was studded with rubies that shone in the light and it felt comfortable enough to move in. Tyrion had preferred the dark, more crimson like one, but Bruce had complained it would ride up his arse crack on the gallop down to the city gates. His cloak was a great velvet thing that had to be wrapped across his chest twice before it was thrown back over his shoulders to fall down just above his ankles. A silver chain hung from his neck with a large emerald dangling from it in the middle of his chest. A number of gold and silver rings and bands adorned his hands and wrists studded with shinning yellow citrine and black garnets. His circlet was of gold, which banded around his head, In the middle of it was a large onyx stone that masked itself with in his black hair.

Neither the dwarf nor the prince would deny how formidable looking Bruce was in the all of his giant scarlet and gold bindings all buckled together with both stag heads and prancing ones with the shinning silver and shimmering gems. Together they concluded he was ready and both walked from his room and through the Red Keep to the courtyard, where the rest of the welcoming party assembled.

When they entered the yard both Tyrion and Bruce were caught off guard by how many Lord Tywin had allowed as the honour guard for his grandson. Two hundred Lannister men-at-arms and a good two dozen lords of the royal court had assembled to welcome Prince Doran's three hundred riders. Crownlanders and Westerlander Lords alike were bearing the proud lions of Lannister in addition to their own coat of arms.

This was no doubt due to the fact that the Hand of the King was trying to make up for the king's absence. Joffery should have met the Dornishmen himself, Bruce reflected as he mounted his horse, but he would have pissed it up the tree, no doubt. Of late the king had been repeating little jests about the Dornish that he'd picked up from the new Reachmen that had come to court. Somehow Bruce did not think Doran Martell would find them amusing.

The streets of King's Landing were packed, but soldiers and townsfolk alike made way for the Imp and his escort. In spite of all the food the Tyrells were carting up from the Reach half of the city still starved. It was five coppers for a loaf of bread, a silver stag for a fresh melon and a gold dragon for a decent piece of meat. But still the market stalls were swamp with people aiming to buy while the less fortunate sulked off in allies and dark corners hoping for scraps. They passed the markets at a quick trot, neither Tyrion nor Bruce were fully keen to bare the eyes of the Smallfolk who had so unjustly come to despise them. 'They wanted me to be their king once.' Bruce sneered too himself as he caught the look of one unfortunate that scowled at him.

Once they had exited the city out of River Gate they waited just outside of the harbour for their guests to arrive. It was the first time Bruce had seen his field of victory since he had been fighting on it. Most of the stone buildings of the harbour were smashed and broken into pieces from the fighting and the stray boulders launched from Renly's catapults. The piers that had stuck out into the Blackwater were all smashed and burned away, their brown wooden legs turned to ashen from the wildfire. Grounded on the banks of the river itself was the scorched remains of _Rob's Hammer_. Of the original four hundred oar hull of the ship only the bow remained, but even still, its timbers were black as night and the edges splintered and every time the wind blew small grains of sinders would rise up from the scorched oak and swirl in the wind as though it were dancing.

All of it made for a very intimidating sight, though probably bot the best for the Dornish to see but that was beyond help now. A horse whickered impatiently behind him, from amidst the ranks of men-at-arms and Lordlings.

The prince's stomach was brewing into a tight not beneath all his red and gold velvet. He supposed it was meant to be that way, when meeting the woman one was when to spend the rest of their life with. That thought tightened in his stomach, 'The wrong woman.' he grumbled mournfully, but he had promised Margaery he would go through with it. After that he thought to his father. He had spent all of his life mourning the woman taken from him, and look what it had turned him into. Bruce feared that he would follow in his footsteps and as much as he was set upon not doing just that, he felt he may have no choice in the matter.

Bruce could see their banners flying as the riders emerged from the green of the living wood in a long dusty column. From here to the river and a good ways beyond it, only bare black trees remained, another legacy of his battle. Too many banners, he thought sourly, as he watched the ashes kick up under the hooves of the horses as they approached. Martell's brought half the lords of Dorne, by the look of it. He tried to think of some good that might come of that, and failed. The heads of three of Westeros' greatest and most hot tempered houses all within the capital was the greatest recipes for disaster in history.

"How many banners do you count?" he asked Tyrion. The dwarf squinted his eyes from atop his horse. "Eight... no, nine." Tyrion turned in his saddle. "Pod, come up here. Describe the arms you see, and tell me which houses they represent." Podrick Payne edged his gelding closer. He was carrying the royal standard, Joffrey's great stag-and-lion, and struggling with its weight. With his uncle's squire came old Drake Ryyker, his thinning grey hair shadowed beneath the Lannister Lion banner of Bruce.

"I can't see. The wind is flapping them." complained the nervous cousin of Ser Ilyn. "Tell the boy what you see, Bronn." Tyrion told his sellsword, as the dark haired men pulled up beside him. "There's a purple flag with yellow balls." They all turned to Payne, "Lemons?" Pod said hopefully. "A purple field strewn with lemons. For House Dalt of Lemonwood."

Bronn sounded out another, "Next's a big black bird on yellow." Pod thought for a moment, "House Blackmont of Blackmont, ser." They went on listing the banners of all the great Dornish houses; Manwoody, Allyrion, Gargalens, Yronwood, Blackmont. Finally, Bruce lost his paitence with the listing and asked for the truly important one. "What of the Martells. A red sun on orange," he called, "with a spear through its back."

"Yes, my lord," Answered Payne sheepishly, "At the front. The Prince of Dorne." He pointed to the lead rider, but then he frowned. "My lords," Pod said, a little timidly, "there's no litter." Bruce and Tyrion turned their heads sharply. The boy was right. "Doran Martell always travels in a litter," the boy said. "A carved litter with silk hangings, and suns on the drapes."

Doran was past fifty, and supposedly full of gout. He may have wanted to make faster time, he told himself. He may have feared his litter would make too tempting a target for brigands, or that it would prove too cumbersome in the high passes of the Boneway. Perhaps his gout is better. Bruce was too well educated to know that his hopes would come true.

"Banners forward," snapped the Crown Prince. "We'll meet them." He kicked his horse. They all followed, one to either side. When the Dornishmen saw them coming, they spurred their own mounts, banners rippling as they rode. Across the Rush a small makeshift bridge had been erected so that riders and peasants could walk over the river with their loads to the capital, the old one had been torn down so as to make Renly's crossing all the more difficult. Just as the Lannister men were crossing the bridge Bruce began to shrink back in his saddle.

Tyrion was the first to notice and pulled alongside his nephew. "What's wrong?" The concerned Imp asked, as his horses hooves clopped on the wood. Bruce turned his head to him and swallowed the lump in his throat. "What do I say to her?" The Master-of-Coin was certainly caught off guard by the question he had been presented with. Tyrion thought for a moment casting quick looks to the Dornishmen that were fast approaching them. Before the two parties met Tyrion gave Bruce his answer, "Say something intelligent and that compliments her." Bruce would have rolled his eyes sceptically but right now he was clutching at straws for something to say to his betrothed. An intelligent compliment? He could do that, though the churning in his stomach was not helping his brain work.

At the head of the Dornishmen was a man astride a stallion black as sin with a mane and tail the colour of fire. He sat his saddle tall, slim, and strong but retained a certain level of grace. A cloak of pale red silk fluttered from his shoulders, and his shirt was armoured with overlapping rows of copper disks that glittered in the sun. His helm displayed a copper sun on its brow, and the round shield slung behind him bore the sun-and-spear of House Martell on its polished metal surface. They grew to a stop in front of one another and it was Tyrion who spoke first.

"Well met, my lords. We had word of your approach, and His Grace King Joffery bid me ride out to welcome you in his name. My lord father the King's Hand sends his greetings as well." Bruce admired the feigned confusion his uncle gave next. "Which of you is Prince Doran?"

"My brother's health requires he remain at Sunspear." The princeling removed his helm. He had a lined face with thin eyebrows, black viper eyes and a sharp nose. His black hair had begun to recede from his brow, yet only had a few silver streaks lining through it. "Prince Doran has sent me to join King Joffery's council in his stead, as it please His Grace." Tyrion gave a smile, "His Grace will be most honoured to have the counsel of a warrior as renowned as Prince Oberyn of Dorne," said Tyrion.

Bruce wanted to smile, but kept his stony guard. 'The Red Viper?' He mused, 'Lord Tyrell and his ilk won't like that. How many Dornishmen does it take to start a war?' Martell introduced the Lords and heirs that had travelled with him. After the Lords were done he motioned for the women at the rear to move forward, and Bruce felt his stomach lurch.

Prince Oberyn introduced the first woman, "And this is Ellaria Sand, mine own paramour." Bruce heard his uncle swallow a groan. His paramour, and bastard-born. The Queen will pitch a holy fit if he wants her at the wedding. If she consigned the woman to some dark corner below the salt, his mother would risk the Red Viper's wrath. Seat her beside him at the high table, and every other lady on the dais was like to take offense. If the Dornish were looking to start a war they were going the right way about it.

Prince Oberyn wheeled his horse about to face his fellow Dornishmen. "Ellaria, lords and ladies, sers, see how well King Joffery loves us. His Grace has been so kind as to send his own Uncle Imp to bring us to his court." Bruce was struggling to fight back his growl. "Not alone, my lords. That would be too enormous a task for a little man like me." To take it all on the chin and with such amusement, Bruce had to admire his uncle. "Let me present Ser Flement Brax, Lord Gyles Rosby, Ser Addam Marbrand, Ser Drake Ryyker, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and my squire Podrick of House Payne." Tyrion gestured to Bruce, ready to introduce him but the Red Viper cut him off. "And Bruce of House Lannister. Or is it Baratheon?"

The Crown Prince flashed grin, "Lannister." He corrected happily, but his smile flickered when he caught the slight narrow in Martell's eyes. "And why might that be?" He questioned. Bruce's horse pawed at the ash beneath it as its master answered, "Lord Tywin is of the opinion that Casterly Rock must always remain within the hands of a Lannister." Bruce could hear the grinding of his uncle's teeth, and from the slight glance he gave to the Imp, so did Martell.

The Red Viper when turned his dark eyes onto the field he was stood in as he addressed Bruce again, "I congratulate you on your victory against your late Uncle. Already in Dorne they sing songs of the valour and skill of the One-eyed Lion." His jaw clenched at the last part. One-eyed? One-eyed? A Lion yes, but One-eyed? He widened his smile slightly, "It was a great victory, though no one told me for a fortnight afterward. I wasn't won without its losses." Said Bruce motioning to the golden eye patch that replaced his knackered one underneath it.

Oberyn smiled back and scanned the prince down to the last detail before he motioned to for another woman to come forth. "Allow me to introduce my niece, Arianne Martell." Bruce's throat hitched when he saw her. She was buxom and beautiful, with olive skin, large dark eyes and long, thick black hair that fell in ringlets to the middle of her back. Her lush and curvaceous body was hidden with flowing silks and jewels, it seemed the Dornish too had gone all out to impress.

"My Lord Lannister." She greeted, bowing her head slightly. He knew he would have to greet her back, but the prince felt words move beyond his own head as he concentrated hard on what to say. What had Tyrion said? An intelligent compliment. What the Seven buggering Hells did that mean? Bruce swallowed the hard lump in his throat, straightened in horse and in best most lord-like voice said, "My Lady, you are the total personification of absolute perfection."

He wasn't sure where it had come from, just grateful when it did come. It seemed to have good enough affect. Tyrion's eyebrows raised at it, Prince Oberyn had the look that he had been impressed by it and, most importantly, Princess Arianne gave a warm smile back at him, "You are far too kind, my lord." Oh! Such a pretty smile she gave him. "I speak only the truth, Princess." Tyrion rolled his eyes at that one, "My lords," He said addressing the Dornishmen, "Might we continue on to the city? Refreshments and rest awaits you at the Red Keep." A murmur of agreement went through the lords of Dorne and the Lannister men turned their column and led them back to the capital.

When Princess Arianne fell in next to him, Bruce wasn't sure what had swelled more, his pride or ego. "Did you have a pleasant journey, my lady?" He asked her, as their horses began to kick up ash along the field. "No I did not, my lord." She answered bluntly. That saddened Bruce for reason he was not entirely sure of. "Why was the journey not to your liking?" She gave a huff and looked at the back of Prince Oberyn's head as he rose next to Lord Tyrion, "I was not allowed to bring my diary." That took him off guard. "Your diary." "I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read." He laughed at that. 'Oh yes,' thought Bruce, 'You and I will get on swimmingly.'


	42. Tyrion VIII

**Archagel9418:** Not well sadly

**jamnaz79**: I think Arianne has a lot of potential in cannon as well. I was so angry when she was not announced as a character for season five.

**Saint River:** I wouldn't hold your breath over the barber. And hopefully it is the start of something equally as good between Bruce and Arianne

**DraekonGreycloak:** Thanks for the complement

raidensokwl: Hey high risk makes for better time

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><p><strong><span>Tyrion<span>**

Oberyn Martell. Oberyn fucking Martell. Tyrion muttered under his breath as the Red Viper pulled in next to him. And what in Seven Hells am I meant to do with this prince. Doran Martell could at least be reasoned with, but his hot-headed younger brother? He knew the man only by reputation... but the reputation of the Red Viper was fearsome.

He had travelled in the Free Cities. He had studied at the Citadel, soldiered in Essos across the narrow sea, riding with the Second Sons for a time before forming his own company. His tourneys, his battles, his duels, his horses, all of it was famed across Westeros. It was said that he bedded men and women both, and had bastard girls all over Dorne. The sand snakes, men called his daughters.

And of course, he had crippled the heir to Highgarden. No man in the Seven Kingdoms would be less welcome at a Tyrell wedding, thought Tyrion. To send Prince Oberyn to King's Landing while the city still hosted Lord Mace Tyrell, and thousands of their men-at-arms was a provocation as dangerous as Prince Oberyn himself. A wrong word, an ill-timed jest, a look, that's all it needed, and our noble allies will be opening one another's throats.

Tyrion looked behind him. Side by side rode the Crown Prince and his betrothed. The girl was beautiful to be sure, with her long lashes, big breasts and luscious curves. Bruce seemed to heave already settled in with her, though first meetings could always be misleading. Through no fault of his own Bruce had always been a prickly beast, now more than ever, but he seemed to act so comfortably around the princess after only just meeting her. Tyrion smiled when his nephew let out a laugh at something Arianne had said.

The horse's hooves clopped against the wood of the bridge across the Rush and Tyrion turned back to Prince Oberyn. "The king is most pleased that you and your companions could attend his wedding, Prince Oberyn." He told the Red Viper, bit his companion shook his head, "Even if we are all Dornish?" He asked the Imp "Joffery will be insulted by our presence. My own especially, I am only the second son." He stated matter-of-factly.

Tyrion offered the Prince of Dorne a shrug, "Speaking as another second son, I have long grown used to being the family insult." The Dornishmen gave a small laugh at that. "Why have you come to King's Landing, Prince Oberyn?" The Imp added with haste. Oberyn cast his black viper eyes over to Tyrion and the dwarf gave a small shuddered under his heavy gaze, "I was invited to the Royal Wedding, and saving your other nephew the ride to Sunspear."

The smile Martell gave him was enough to confirm to Tyrion that he and the Red Viper would not become the fastest of friends. "I thought, as we are both second sons, we were being honest with each other." Tyrion caught the look Prince Oberyn gave his nephew out the corner of his eye, and he was certain he would not like the Prince's reply.

"The last time I was in the capital was a number of years ago. Another wedding." Martell turned back in his saddle to look completely at his niece and her betrothed, blissfully unaware of the conversation taking place between their uncles. "My sister Elia and the Last Dragon, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen." Tyrion had hoped not to do this, but he knew this was why his father had sent him with his nephew in the first place. "My sister was in love with him," The Red Viper went on, his eyes fixed on Princess Arianne, "She bore his children. Rocked them, sang to them and fed them from her own teats. Wouldn't let the wet nurse touch them." A ghost of a smile went to the Prince of Dorne's face.

Bruce let out a great laugh from beside the Princess, and Tyrion cursed dead King Robert for giving the boy his laugh, when the Dornishman moved his gaze to the Prince. "And then beautiful, noble, great Prince Rhaegar left her for another woman." Oberyn turned his eyes back on Tyrion, "That started a war. One that ended right here in this city." A shadow cast over the Imp and the Red Viper, as they moved underneath the River Gate, and the viper eyes of the Dornish Prince glared daggers so fierce into Tyrion, he feared he might not live to feel the touch of the sun on his skin again.

"They butchered my sister's babies. Wrapped them in Lannister cloaks and gave them to Robert Baratheon as though they were a name-day gift." The Imp shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, he knew it was doubtful he would survive the Dornishman. "Jon Arryn came to Sunspear the year after Robert took the throne, and you can be sure that he was questioned closely about what happened to my sister, niece and nephew. Him, and a hundred more. I did not come for some farce your father would call vengeance. I came for justice for Elia and her children, and I will have it."

"Justice." Yes, that is why he's here, I should have seen that at once. "Pray tell me, when will the justice be served?" Prince Oberyn laughed a little, "As soon as I smell out that stinking, great shit pile, Gregor Clegane." Tyrion smiled, "You speak like a man with a great host at his back," he said, "yet all I see are three hundred. You should try getting a whiff of that big pile of Red Stone atop the hill." The Red Viper looked to where the dwarf was pointing, "That castle called the Red Keep." Said Prince Oberyn, his voice now far more jovial.

"That's the very one. Take a good sniff, my lord. Fill up your nose. Do you smell the gold cloaks? There are near five thousand of them. My father's own sworn swords must account for another ten thousand. And then there are the roses. Roses smell so sweet, do they not? Especially when there are so many of them. Ten, fifteen thousand roses, in the city or camped outside it, I can't really say how many are left, though most of them were turned ash on that river we just crossed. And then there are the Lions…"

Prince Oberyn's jaw tightened, "Such big talk from such a small lion." He snickered. But Tyrion gave him a wide smile, "It's not this lion that should worry you." The Red Viper laughed at that, "I do not fear Lord Tywin." It was Tyrion's turn to laugh now. "I am sure you do not. However that is not lion I was thinking of. This lion is not old or small, he has antlers and a golden eye." Oberyn followed Tyrion's look to the Crown Prince. "It is said that he was the pride of his grandfather's pack at Casterly Rock. He has downed stags and uprooted the best roses in the garden. He ran through a field of fire and made the river run red. Even the King of the forest bowed to him after this lion gave up his eye for him. He ran with the wolves of the North and rolled in the flowerbeds of the Reach."

Martell gave a shrug. "In Dorne of old, it was said that all flowers bow before the sun. Should the roses seek to hinder me I'll gladly trample them underfoot." Tyrion was quick to retort "As you trampled Willas Tyrell?" The Dornishman did not react as expected. "I had a letter from Willas not half a year past. He has never borne me any ill will for what happened in the lists. I struck his breastplate clean, but his foot caught in a stirrup as he fell and his horse came down on top of him. If any were to blame, it was his fool of a father. The Fat Flower thrust him into tourneys at too early an age, just as he did with the other two. He wanted a Dragonknight, and made himself a cripple."

"There are those who say Ser Loras is better than the Dragonknight ever was," said Tyrion. "Renly's little rose? I doubt that." "Doubt it all you wish," said Tyrion, "but Ser Loras has defeated many good knights, including my brother Jaime-" The Prince of Dorne was quick to cut off Tyrion, "And turned your precious, Lion with Antlers half blind. The Imp shrugged, "Perhaps, but I do believe he meant to kill our lion. I know he'll wish he had after my nephew is done with him."

They were riding toward the gate to the Red Keep now. The portcullis was heaved open by the rattle of chains and Tyrion quickly trotted into the courtyard, however once he had we wished he could only ride straight back out again. From all sides came the great rumble of warhorses galloping on hard stone. Great roses on a green field fluttered high in the air, flanked by the lion and stag banner of the king. Tyrion almost felt his bowels empty when he saw the courtyard surrounded by Reachmen and King's men.

The Imp knew nothing good would come of this encounter from the off, but when he saw the ring leaders of this new welcoming party he could scarcely think how bad it would be. First he saw Mace Tyrell's second son, Garlan the Gallant. Like most of his men, Ser Garlan wore the green armour of House Tyrell though instead of the one rose he wore two on his breastplate, much like his younger brother wore three. Next, Tyrion saw the person who should have greeted the Dornish to begin with, King Joffery beside him his soon to be wife, Lady Margaery.

Behind Tyrion the Dornishmen and Royal escort began to form ranks, hands on swords and fingers clenched around spear shafts. In order to stop the castle getting a new coat of red, Tyrion approached the King and his escort. "Well met, Your Grace." The Imp called to his eldest nephew, "I present our honoured guests from Dorne." He rounded off the names of the Dornishmen, saving Prince Oberyn for last.

When the name of the Red Viper was uttered, all the Reachmen bristled in their shinning green armour and the grip on their sword handles tightened. Joffery gave a bored, half-hearted greeting to the Dornish Lords with as much kingliness as a pig could muster, though it was not the king Tyrion was watching. Ser Garlan shifted in his saddle eagerly his hand ghosting his sword, waiting patiently to hear the first drawing of steel, as he glared at the man who turned his elder brother into a cripple. Lady Margaery was doing much the same as her brother, however when Bruce and Princess Arianne trooped into the clearing beside Prince Oberyn, her gaze shifted to the Heir of Sunspear.

They stood like that for a long while, all on bated breath waiting for the first draw and the inevitable clash between the sun and rose. What was that question Tyrion had asked himself? How many Dornishmen did it take to start a war? He now wondered; how much blood did it take to call it a massacre? Just as Tyrion was about to speak again, Ser Garlan stepped forward into the clearing. He ignored Tyrion and approached Prince Oberyn.

From off to the side Tyrion heard one of the Tyrell men shout to Ser Garlan, "My Lord, tell us a joke!" Tyrion cringed, no doubt it would be one of those marvellous ones Joffery had took to shouting around the Red Keep. The Reachmen smirked at his fellow second son and spoke aloud for the whole keep to hear; "How many Dornishmen does it take to fuck a goat?" A mirth of laughter went out from Tyrion's escort and the Reachmen.

Tyrion's stomach tightened when he heard the scraping of steel from behind him, how he prayed that Prince Oberyn was not as short tempered at rumour would have him. When Bruce moved forward to answer, Tyrion did not know if he should be grateful or even more worried. The Crown Prince's reply made him think the latter. "I do not know, Ser Garlan. However, I do know it took near twenty thousand Reachmen to take one man's eye." A rumble of laughter went through the Dornish and the escort.

Garlan moved from the Red Viper to the Lion. The two looked at each other with guarded looks. It was said Garlan was better than his little brother with a sword, and Bruce was meant to have been also, though that was back when Bruce had two green eyes and no gold one. After a good while of standing across from each other, Ser Garlan shifted his look to behind the Prince, to his betrothed and then to his sister. Lady Margaery gave her brother a nod, and grinning slightly, Ser Garlan advanced his horse on Bruce's slowly.

Whether he willed it to or not, Bruce's mount backed up from the mount that approached it. Bruce soon put a stop to his stallion's retreat and defiantly raised his chin to the Reachman. Lord Tyrell's son tried to move around the king's brother, but Bruce move to block the way. Ser Garlan tried again, and again Bruce blocked the way. It went on and on, Bruce guarding the Reachman's path like he did with his look. All the while Tyrell was trying to look, not at Bruce, but Princess Arianne.

If Bruce was to be believed he had spent a number of months in Highgarden, in which time he became 'acquainted' with Garlan's sister, Joffery's betrothed, Lady Margaery. And from the look the girl and her brother tried to shoot past Bruce, Tyrion could not help but be struck by the fact that they were inspecting her replacement. Tyrion made a mental note to ask Varys what he knew of Bruce and the future queen.

It seemed that after nothing seemed to happening of interest, Joffery had grown bored. "Ser Garlan!" called the King, "Come, we must go." After some brief grumblings the Reachmen did as their king bid, and went to leave. The Dornishmen parted for them all. Amidst the slackening of grip around the handle of spears and sheathing of swords, Ser Garlan dismissed himself from the Crown Prince and led the escort out of the open gate.

Just as the situation seemed totally defused the king stopped and had succeeded where his soon to be goodbrother had failed, and drank in his brother's bride to be. Joffery gave sickening smile, one Tyrion knew he only gave when he was at his most evil. Bruce seemed to notice his brother and Arianne and moved to block her from view, his once shy stallion barging the king's out of the way.

Joffery scowled at his brother and both their faces began to turn red. For a moment Tyrion feared that what would happen, as he recalled Bruce's grand return to court. Bruce had promised his brother would take nothing else from him that day, but he had and if Joffery meant to take another woman from Bruce he might as well slit his own throat.

The Tyrell girl trotted up to the King and tugged on his arm, "Come my love." She told him, but it was not Joffery who turned to look at her. Bruce's glance at Joff's betrothal was quick and he was even quicker to realise his folly, but the damage was already done. That sickening smile returned to the King's face as he turned to leave the keep and with him went the last of Bruce's pride. The Crown Prince gave growl after his brother and rammed his half drawn sword back into place.

Tyrion let out a great sigh and addressed the Dornishmen as they moved back into their ranks. "Welcome to King's Landing." He gave meekly and led them all to the stables.


	43. Cersei III

**Mikle Silver****:** Bruce will be king if Joffery dies, even if it was him who did it. He is the next in line for the throne, unless someone tries to remove him as well as Joffery or launches a rebellion for another heir he will be the king in King's Landing

**greenstripe****:** King Bruce does have a nice ring to it wouldn't you agree

**Archagel9418:** Can anyone really wait to kill Joffery

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><p><strong><span>Cersei<span>**

The situation in the Red Keep had become far more volatile, to say the least. The Tyrells and the Martells were not becoming firm bed fellows. It seemed every other day now, tales of a new brawl in the yard or city would arrive for all to hear. Reachmen and Dornishmen had warred for centuries, though never outside of their own lands. For the conflict to drift beyond, and to the capital, was a dangerous thing indeed.

Prince Oberyn and his lords had been seated in a corner fort facing the city, as far from the Tyrells as they could put them without evicting them from the Red Keep entirely. It was not nearly far enough. Already, in addition to the ones in the Red Keep, there had been a brawl in a Flea Bottom pot-shop that left one Tyrell man-at-arms dead and two of Prince Oberyn's scalped, and an ugly confrontation in the yard when Mace Tyrell's wizened little mother called Ellaria Sand "the serpent's whore."

Other houses and their men seemed to only be making the situations worse. Most of the Lannister men-at-arms tried to avoid any conflict, though most failed. The red cloaks would often be called upon to silence and break up the two sides when a fight would break out, however they would mainly join who ever seemed to be winning and send them they were fighting back even bloodier.

As Cersei had heard it the Lannister men had only ever been lured into conflict directly once. Late at night a group of the Dornish had walked by the Tower of the Hand calling for justice. They were met with steel and red capes. It had been quite the battle, or so Cersei had heard. Half a dozen wounded on both sides plus two of the gold cloaks Prince Bruce had break up the brawl, they were lucky Lord Tywin had not been in his Tower when the Dornish came calling.

In a matter of days the Red Keep had gone from its normal battlefield of words, whispers and personal intrigue to an actual battlefield. No one went anywhere unguarded or unarmed anymore, if they went anywhere at all. Most had been left to brood in their part of the castle, for the Master-at-Arms and the Lord of the Rock had taken to have the gold cloaks patrol the keep more regularly and any attempt at provocation had been met with a firm hand, the King's to be precise.

As a result of all this it would be of little doubt that the first meeting between the Fat Flower and the Red Viper would be a great event to be sure. It was Prince Oberyn's first Small Council meeting and Cersei had the honour of being the first to arrive with at her father's new place of work. The room was much the same as it had been on the few occasions Cersei had met with her brother here, the only difference being the addition of the new grand oak table that now acted as the Small Council table.

The Queen Regent took her normal place beside her father and the two waited in a dim silence for others to arrive. Much to Cersei's surprise, the Red Viper was the first to show. 'Probing the ground, no doubt.' Cersei thought when Prince Oberyn had come striding into the room in his Dornish orange and Myrish silks.

"Lord Hand. Queen Cersei." Greeted the Prince, smiling like a fool. Oberyn moved toward a chair two down from Cersei and placed his feet on the table. "Although it will soon be former Queen. Will it not, Lady Cersei?" The Queen's jaw clenched, and her eye gave a slight twitch at the thought. 'I'll still be more of a queen than your bitch sister ever was.'

Cersei forced a smile. "Welcome to the Small Council, Prince Oberyn. A pity your brother could not attend my son's wedding." Cersei gave with her usual grace, though the malice in it was plain enough to see. From beside her, Lord Tywin picked up a letter he neglected to seal, and passed it across the table to Prince Oberyn. "Please give him my regards. Hopefully his gout will leave him and in time he might walk again."

"In Dorne we call it the rich man's disease. A miracle you do not have, yet." The Red Viper retorted jovially. After that Grand Maester Pycelle shuffled into the room, a few small pieces of parchment in his wrinkled hands. The old man placed them on the table next to the Hand and took his seat. Lord Tywin read through the letters in silence, leaving the other three to exchange odd glances with each other. Cersei scanned the Red Viper intensely. She had once been meant to marry a much younger Prince Oberyn, but that was before her mother died. And looking at the Red Viper now, Tyrion's birth was one of the very few things she would have to thank the little Imp for.

After a short while, Mace Tyrell came into the room as boldly as his round belly and balding head would allow him to. The Lord Oaf bowed to Lord Tywin and Cersei politely, but both ignored him totally. It was not until he pulled out the chair opposite, that the Fat Flower noticed the man who had crippled his son. Deliberately, Prince Oberyn moved his feet further onto the table, so as to block Lord Tyrell from view.

"Does this mean I am a master of something now?" Martell asked Lord Lannister, slyly smiling at Mace Tyrell behind his boots, "Coins, laws… ships-" Given how easy he was to bait, the Fat Flower might as well have been the fat salmon. "Lord Tywin and I already decided that _I_ am master-of-ships." Announced the Reachmen to the soul of the prince's boots. Oberyn made a gap in between his boots to look at Lord Tyrell though his head faced toward Cersei, "A pity there is no master of gardens, eh, Your Grace." The Fat Flower held his tongue once he realised no one would stand to his defence. His thick neck reddened and his arms folded while Lord Mace sulked in his chair.

From behind the wooden door of the council chambers came a great laugh and the clicking of heels on stone. As if on cue the final members joined them. The Lion the Imp and the Cockless wonder. The three entered amidst the laughter of the jape told beyond the door, Varys giving his feminine giggle, Tyrion the demonic chuckle that made Cersei's teeth grind and Bruce with that heart-warming chortle he had gotten from his father.

Tyrion clambered onto the chair opposite his father and drooped an enormous leather bound book onto the table. The bang it hit the polished wood with shook the legs of the table and caused Lord Tywin to raise he brow expectantly. The Imp readjusted in his seat and opened the book. "You will all be happy to know," The Imp said with his typical arrogance, which made Cersei wished she could pull his tongue out. "That I have just saved the Crown thousands of gold dragons on these weddings."

Their royal father seemed interested in this. "And how did you accomplish this?" asked Lord Tywin. Tyrion raised his finger, "With only _one_ conversation with Olenna Tyrell." Lord Tyrell broke his sulk at the mention of his mother, "My mother!" He was quick to collect himself at the Prince of Dorne's small laugh, "My mother does not deal with Highgarden's finances. We will pay for nothing." He declared as though it was actually he who ran the Reach, and did not just bumble about it like the great oaf he was.

Tyrion seemed unmoved at this, "But, My Lord, your mother was most insistent that your house play its part in the planning of your daughter's wedding. You would not like to have it said that Highgarden does not play its part in protecting the realm." Tyrion was by far one of the best wordsmiths in King's Landing, much as Cersei hated to admit it, he could easily bend Lord Tyrell in place and if not father would. After a brief grunting and grumbling Lord Tyrell went back to his sulking, so that the real meeting could begin.

Lord Tywin spoke to them all, "What news of my son?" It was little doubt which son he meant. Cersei felt a pang in the heart at the mention of her twin. Oh, how she missed him. First they looked to Varys, who shrugged innocently. Then they looked to Cersei, who starred blankly back at them. Then they moved to Pycelle, he shrank under the impatient eyes of Lord Tywin. Prince Oberyn simply removed his feet from the table and looked to the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince just pulled down his lion head round his new neck length hair. Tyrion raised his hands defensively and shrugged. None of them bothered to look at Mace Tyrell.

Lord Tywin's fist banged against the wooden table. "Half the Seven Kingdoms have known about his escape for weeks. How do none of you have any notion of where he is?" Varys spoke up in an attempt to mend his damage reputation, "We are trying our hardest, my lord." The Hand of the King's fist banged on the table again, "Try harder!" Lord Tywin leaned back in his chair and pinched his nose, "What do we know then?"

Again Varys spoke up, "Robb Stark and most of his bannermen are at the funeral of his grandfather, Lord Hoster. He keeps his mother close, so as to be sure she organises no more escapes." The master-at-arms leaned forward out of his chair, "Where does he intend on taking his army?" The Hand of the King opened and reread one of the letters to make sure of his reply. "North. Roose Bolton's bastard retook Winterfell and moves south to regroup with Stark at the Twins. From there they intend to put the Ironmen to the sword, while the River Lords hold the line in the south." The Crown Prince crossed his arms across his chest and put his elbows on the table before he spoke again, "When does the march on Riverrun begin?"

"As soon as the Young Wolf goes north." His grandfather answered, "Lord Tarly will move in from along the River Road and smash the armies on the Trident and Ser Daven will come from up the Red Fork. They'll pen Riverrun in iron and bring the Tully's to yield." Lord Tyrell banged his hand on table in celebration, "Then onward to Winterfell!" They all ignored him, as was the norm, and Lord Tywin motioned for the Spider to continue.

"Stannis Baratheon marches on Storm's End. Since the death of King Renly, Edric Storm claims the lordship of the Stormlands." A tone of questioning went round the table. One of Robert's bastards. By far the worst one, Cersei knew, he knows he is a king's son, but always chooses to forget that he is bastard-born. If Edric Storm claimed the Stormlands how long would it be before he claimed his father's throne? The thought made Cersei shudder, but Lord Tywin seemed unfazed. "Will the bastard try and march on Stannis?" asked Tyrion of Lord Varys.

The eunuch shook his head. "He lacks the men to do it himself. However, he has begun to ready for his uncle's siege." Stannis Baratheon had held Storm's End for a year against all the odds. And Storm was not his father and neither was he his uncles, and Stannis Baratheon was far from Lord Mace Tyrell. If Stannis could hold Storm's End for a year then he could almost certainly take it from anyone in half of one. Though the eunuch still felt the boy had hope.

"Ser Loras Tyrell and his host moves south to Storm's End." The Crown Prince let out a growl from the back of his throat and Mace Tyrell paled under the suspicious eye of Lord Tywin. "Does the Knight of Flowers mean to relieve the bastard when Lord Stannis lays siege?" asked the Red Viper lazily of the eunuch. "Perhaps, my lord." Said the eunuch, uncertainly, "However, Ser Loras carries with him the body of late King Renly. It could be he means to lay him to rest before returning."

The Crown Prince let out a laugh. "If Loras means to lay a usurper to rest that means he still denies Joffery as king. A treasonous act is it not Lord Tyrell." The neck of the Fat Flower turned an even darker red. "My… My Lords… I- my son… he will return to the capital for the wedding. He promises." Stammered out the lord of Highgarden. Cersei snorted and turned her nose up at the man, "The promise of a coward and a traitor. He'll hang as soon as he steps inside of the Red Keep." Lord Mace seemed on the verge of breaking down in tears. "Your Grace… please… mercy. Loras is no traitor. He would never-"

Whatever excuse Tyrell had planned, the Queen Regent would not listened to. She flung an arm out to indicate her son, "He maimed and almost killed a prince of the realm! He'll die for what he did to my son." Three eyes were widened at the other end of the table. Clearly, Tyrion and Bruce had forgotten who had had actually birthed the Crown Prince.

Lord Tywin brought his fist down on the table again. "Enough." Commanded the old lion, and turned to Lord Tyrell. "You will command your son to return to the capital and if he arrives before the Royal Wedding he will be pardoned." There was a unified cry of "What!?" from the mother and son. "You can't do that!" Shouted the youngest Lannister, but his grandfather seemed unfazed. "I can and I am. There will be no more talk on the matter." Bruce moved to protest but the old lion motioned to Tyrion for a change of topic.

The Imp fumbled around in thought for a moment before he came up with the Royal Wedding. "Many of the performers we have hired for the event would like to know if they will be paid before or after the wedding." Bruce banged his fist on table and leaned back in his chair to simmer. "After." Answered Lord Tywin. Tyrion nodded and scribbled it down in the book with a led pencil.

"Whose wedding will be taking place first, hmm?" Asked the Prince of Dorne, casting a quick look behind himself to the Crown Prince.

The piece of led Tyrion was scribbling with snapped and Cersei smiled slyly at her little brother. "Lord Tyrion's wedding to Lady Sansa will be tomorrow." Said the ancient Grand Maester. The dwarf looked up from his book, squirming like at worm. "My congratulations, Lord Tyrion." Offered Prince Oberyn. "I hope you will be very happy together." Gave the eunuch, clasping together his heavily powdered hands.

Tyrion's evil, black eye glimmered out at his father beneath a lank of blond hair. The eye twitched at Lord Tywin a few times before moving to Cersei. "And when can we expect to see are the Queen Regent led down the aisle again?" Her smile turned quickly into a scowl and the two Lannister siblings glared at each other with equal venom. Lord Tyrell cleared his throat quietly before he answered the Imp's question, though it seemed to be directed more to Lord Tywin, "Lady Cersei will depart with my mother after the wedding. She will wed my eldest son, Wilas, a fortnight after they reach Highgarden." It wasn't a difficult choice to make between which of the Tyrell's to marry. The pillow biter or the cripple. And cripples tend not to be fully healthy after their accident, they would fall and break their necks all the time.

Prince Oberyn was clearly uninterested by either of the other weddings taking place. "And my nieces' wedding?" Bruce seemed to shift a little in his chair at the mention of his wedding, "Two months before the Royal Wedding." Lord Tywin told them. Cersei counted how long it would be to prepare for. Tyrion's tomorrow, Joff's in three months. Plenty of time to prepare, she decided.

The Red Viper cast a look over to the sheepish looking Heir of Casterly Rock. "Arianne is looking forward to your wedding, my Prince." Bruce swallowed thickly, "I hope so, Prince Oberyn. I hope so."


	44. Tyrion IX

**Godzilla:** Yeah, sorry i'm not gonna answer them questions it's just asking for too big and too many spoilers.

**Saint River****:** There are a lot of theories on Doran trying to make Arianne queen, but none of them really come to fruition in cannon.

**Silver crow:** He might try and do it and who knows he might even get away with it. As for the Purple Wedding, we will just have to wait and see. Plus, just read a head for your other question

**DannyMcDingles****:** Vipers do have famously short tempers

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><p><strong><span>Tyrion<span>**

His head felt as though he had been thrown against a brick wall. A repeating drum beat running throughout his skull. He had drunk too much last night to be sure, and no doubt he would do the same again tonight and the night after that and the night after that. The more he began to think about the more he began to realise his life as a married man may be just one long hangover.

Once it became apparent that his head would not cease the pounding, Tyrion rose from his comfortable bed and take a look about his bed chambers. It was much the same ragged water closet it had been the day before, though it now had the addition of one Podrick Payne sleeping lazily in a corner chair. Tyrion smiled at his squire. He was always a quiet one while awake, but he made a racket when asleep.

The Imp stretched his back and winced as his joints clicked into place. He pulled back the red and gold bed sheets and hobbled down from his bed to the chamber pot in the corner. His bladder's contents hit the bowl with metallic whine. Filling the air of the room with the sound of his water, Tyrion thought on what would happen today.

The prayers in the sept, the witnesses singing the songs which bored Tyrion to tears, the changing of the cloaks, the feast and of course the bedding. His water shook a little when he thought of the bedding. He remembered his sister's and King Robert's. It had been quite a lewd affair. Hundreds of large and adventurous hands had lifted Cersei into the air, catching feels of her in places that some would argue they had no right to.

He felt sorry that Sansa would face the same treatment and an even worse thing to at the end. Tyrion spat into the piss filled bowl as he shook himself off. It wasn't fair, to either of them. The Stark girl deserved better than him. He was crooked, stunted and misshapen. She was too young, too naïve and too innocent for him.

He tucked himself back inside the breeches he'd neglected to change out of the night before and moved to wake Pod. He poked the boy in the face a few times before he spluttered into life and started his usual incoherent babbling. "My lord. You stood. Is that... do you... do you need wine? What kind of wine?" Tyrion raised his hand and the boy shushed himself. "Bring me some clean garb." The Imp told his squire.

"Garb?" How the boy could be so clearheaded and resourceful in battle and so confused at all other times Tyrion could never comprehend. "Clothing," he repeated. "Tunic, doublet, breeches. For me. To dress in. I stink of piss and stale wine, it will only put me off my breakfast." Pod rubbed his blood shot eyes before he quickly moved to lay out some clothing. Tyrion settled for a pair of breeches and an oversized bed robe that hung loosely about his shoulders. He wouldn't bother for his wedding garbs just yet. He would break his fast and bathe first.

Once his squire had sent for the breakfast, Tyrion dismissed him. The boy looked too tired still to be of any real use to anyone. Servants let themselves in and laid the small table he used with fresh bread, goat's cheese, newly caught trout and most importantly, wine. He downed a good few cups to begin with, just enough to make the banging in his skull bearable for the time being.

He was gently nibbling though some bread when his nephew came boldly into the room. "There's the lucky man!" Bruce said, a sharp grin cutting across his face. Tyrion through him a look black enough to match his mood. "Don't." The Imp warned him. Bruce swallowed the grin and nodded knowingly, "Sorry." Offered the prince, as he pulled out the chair opposite his uncle.

"Don't be." Tyrion told him and took another drink from his goblet. "A bit early for that isn't it?" Bruce asked his uncle before he stole a wedge of cheese. The Imp shook his head, "It's never too early." His nephew accepted the argument and bite into the cheese wedge. Tyrion set his drained cup back onto the table and wiped his mouth with the front of his ragged shirt. "What time do we start this farce?" He questioned his nephew.

Bruce's look turned very sour indeed. "As soon as you're both dressed for it. I came here to see if you needed anything." Tyrion sighed and pushed his plate away from him. At least everyone was agreed to get the bloody thing over and done with as soon as possible.

After they finished eating and Tyrion was done drinking for now, dutifully his nephew helped him into his wedding clothes. He wore a doublet of black velvet covered with golden scrollwork, thigh-high boots that added three inches to his height, a chain of rubies and gold lions' heads. Tyrion ran a hand across his scalp to flatten down any stray hairs and turned to face his nephew with as good a smile as he could manage. "How do I look?" The corners of the prince's mouth up turned and his eyes softened beneath the hulking lions' head he wore, "You'll do."

They walked across the Red Keep, in silence, toward the corner of the castle in which Sansa Stark was being kept so very comely. Tyrion had hoped for a private word with his bride before the wedding, though when the white gilded forms of Meryn Trant and Boros Blount stood vigil outside the door he knew it would be a tad more difficult than he expected.

Inside the girl's room, Joffery stood with his sickening smile as Sansa Stark stood red faced and on the verge of tears. "Please, Your Grace," she begged. "If you ever loved me even a little bit, don't make me marry your-" Tyrion stepped through the doors of her room cut her off. "-uncle?" He swallowed at the shocked look the girl flung at him and faced Joffery. "Your Grace, grant me a moment alone with Lady Sansa, if you would be so kind?" The king was about to refuse, but his brother gave him a sharp look and he went from the room in a huff. Bruce followed his brother and closed the door behind him.

"You are very beautiful, Sansa," he told her. "It is good of you to say so, my lord." The Stark girl was ever the picture of courtesy, it seemed to be all she really knew. Tyrion inhaled deeply and thought of what to say next, he knew that neither of them wanted this and it could be their last chance out of the whole gormless, bloody mess.

He waddled closer. "You did not ask for this marriage, I know. No more than I did. If I had refused you, however, they would have wed you to my cousin Lancel. Perhaps you would prefer that. He is nearer your age, and fairer to look upon. If that is your wish, say so, and I will end this farce." "You are kind, my lord," she said, defeated. "I am a ward of the throne and my duty is to marry as the king commands."

He studied her with his mismatched eyes. It was plain enough she didn't want him, that much was plain. She wanted a Knight of Flowers, his brother Jaime, some gallant ser from nowhere, even crippled old Willas Tyrell would have done, just so long as it wasn't him. Stark's and their bloody duty. "I know I am not the sort of husband young girl's dream of, Sansa," he said softly, "but neither am I Joffrey."

She shook her head. "No," Sansa said. "You were kind to me. I remember." Tyrion offered her a thick, blunt-fingered hand. "Come, then. Let us do our duty."

The sept was much as it always was; big and dusty. However, this time it was not empty. Tyrion looked around the sept as he waited for his bride to arrive in full. At the back he could see Varys, garbed in his soft silks. Next to him he saw Pod and Bronn, one looking more haggard than the other. Ser Addam Marbrand, Lord Gyles, and Ser Lancel were among the lesser courtiers that had been commanded here by Lord Tywin.

Down the steps from Tyrion stood the three main houses. On his right were his own family. Lord Tywin stood tall and serious overviewing the whispers of the courtiers as they muttered to one another. Cersei was smirking at him and found himself being filled with the urge to slap his sister right across her face. Close beside his mother was plump, little, Tommen. The lad starred about the great sept in wonderment at all the ornate decorations, none of it there for Tyrion of course, just the first pieces to go up for Joffrey's wedding.

Just behind and a little down the steps were the Martells and the Crown Prince blocking the gaps between them and the Lannisters. At their rear was Ellaria Sand in bright yellow and gleaming jewellery, she smiled around at the room, like Tommen she looked to have never seen such work as the sept of Baelor. Beside his paramour was Prince Oberyn, his dark eyes flicking from the back of Lord Tywin's head and that of the Crown Prince.

Tyrion could help the smile he made when he saw his nephew and the Martell heiress. Bruce was clad in the yellow and black of his father's house with his lion skin guarding his shoulders, the head was drooped back giving way to the neck length black hair that began to curl at the back. Princess Arianne was in orange flowing silks studded with the best refinery of Dorne and her hair fell in ringlets down to the middle of her back. She was quite short (though not as short as Tyrion) but most people were dwarfed when stood next to the Lion with Antlers.

The Prince and Princess had their arms entwined, standing tightly together. Arianne stood on her tip toes and tugged on the arm of the Bruce. He craned his head down toward her and she whispered something into his ear that made him smile and redden slightly. The Prince leaned down a little and whispered something back at her that was replied with a small bout of laughter. From what he had been told and heard, Tyrion was able to deduce that Bruce and his soon to be wife were getting on well enough for their matching to proceed. Tyrion admitted that from the way his nephew described her, Princess Arianne seemed enchanting though he had not spoken to her at all, aside from a brief curtsy they gave each other on her first morning in the capital.

On the left of Tyrion were the Tyrells. The great oaf, Lord Mace stood at the front smiling merrily as befit a simpleton of his stature, while his mother scolded him viciously and without mercy much to the satisfaction of various people around the sept. Tyrion's long lasting memory of Lady Olenna Tyrell will be would only ever being able to wonder if Lord Luthor had not rode off the cliff intentionally.

Beside her grandmother stood the queen to be. Lady Margaery looked resplendent in the bright green and gold of House Tyrell. The girl's ambitions to be queen were plain enough to see now. She toured Flea Bottom and the most deprived parts of the city at least twice a week, visiting orphanages, sick houses and the soup kitchens. Sometimes the king would venture with her, though mainly it was just her brother Garlan the Gallant and the great baggage train of free food.

When the doors of the sept finally opened Tyrion felt his heart tighten. His bride came forth the in grey and white of House Stark. As father of the realm, Joffrey took the place of Lord Eddard Stark. Sansa seemed to be unsettled by the proposition, but went along with it any way. The king was resplendent in crimson and gold, his crown on his head. He led Sansa up to beside his uncle and just as Tyrion was about to pike up the stool he had brought to cloak the Stark girl with some decency, Joff snatched it away the sadistic smile cutting deep at both the dwarf and his bride.

Tyrion could only look on in supressed horror as his eldest nephew walked back down the steps, the stool clutched tightly in one hand. For the Imp and Sansa all hope of preserving any of their dignity seemed dashed, had it not been for Bruce's love of his uncle. The Crown Prince snaked his arm out of Princess Arianne's and marched on Joffery with a face like thunder, his golden eye flashing. As the King turned to come about his mother's side the Lion grabbed him by the arm.

"Put it back." Ordered Bruce. Joff flinched back and tried to wretch his hand away but his brother's grip only tightened. "Put it back," growled the Lion, his nails digging through the king's robes into the flesh beneath, "Or he stands on your head." Joffery looked at his mother wildly but Cersei seemed torn between the two. She kept her silence and turned to her father, and so too did her eldest son.

Lord Tywin looked expectantly down on his first grandson and jerked his head toward his youngest son, back at the top of the steps. Joffery made the long trudge up the steps back to his uncle. Tyrion held his hand out for the stool but the King merely flung it at the Imp's feet like the spoiled child he was, before he went back to his mother, rubbing his arm. Tyrion hoped Bruce had left bruises.

He righted the chair and hobbled onto it. Upon the High Septon's word, Tyrion unravelled the bride's cloak. It was huge and heavy, crimson velvet richly worked with lions and bordered with gold satin and rubies. He placed the cloak around her slender shoulders and she turned to face him. When he caught the look on her face Tyrion felt ashamed for what he had done. She smoothed her skirts and bent down a little, so their heads were on the same level. "With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband." Tyrion cleared his throat. "With this kiss I pledge my love," the dwarf replied hoarsely, "and take you for my lady and wife." He leaned forward, and their lips touched briefly.

They were both quick to pull away and the septon announced to them all, "Here in the sight of gods and men I do solemnly proclaim Tyrion of House Lannister and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them." Tyrion felt every sympathy when he saw his wife bite her lip for sobbing.

The wedding feast was held in the Small Hall. There were perhaps fifty guests; Lannister retainers and allies for the most part, joining those who had been at the wedding. Tyrion drank heavily and ate but little. He listened whenever someone rose to make a toast and sometimes nodded a curt acknowledgment, but otherwise his face might have been made of stone.

When the musicians began to play, Sansa timidly laid her hand on Tyrion's and said, "My lord, should we lead the dance?" His mouth twisted. "I think we have already given them sufficient amusement for one day, don't you?" She pulled her hand back. "As you say, my lord." Dancing, he sneered to himself, he'd been wed before and had no dancing, only the singing of a sweet, sweet song.

Joffrey and Margaery led in their place. How can a monster dance so beautifully? Tyrion wondered, though the king's domination of the dancing did not continue for long. The band struck up a different tune and the Imp almost choked on his wine for laughter, when he saw Princess Arianne leading Bruce to the floor.

The Dornish beauty with the black hair and the big dark eyes, spun so provocatively that every man in the hall was soon watching her. Tyrion knew his nephew would not be out done so easily, he had his father's thirst and to have been led anywhere near a dance must have downed more than his fair share of wine. Bruce matched his betrothed with equal fervour, and seemed to be doing quite well as men from all sides cheered him on.

Other guests soon joined. Some young Reach girl danced with Prince Tommen. Lord and Lady Tyrell moved to beside the king and their daughter. Prince Oberyn moved with his paramour, keeping close to his niece. Cersei partnered first Lord Redwyne, then Lord Rowan, and finally their own father, who danced with smooth unsmiling grace. Tyrion spat out a chicken bone he almost swallowed, watching how the queen moved and laughed and tossed her blonde curls. She charms them all just like her little monster. How I hate her.

Garlan Tyrell approached the dais and held a hand out for Sansa. "Lady Sansa. Would you honour me? If your lord consents?" The Imp's mismatched eyes narrowed. "My lady can dance with whomever she pleases." The gallant ser led his wife away and Tyrion found he could care less. He reached for the flagon of wine and then filled his goblet to the brim. He took a large drink from it and damn near choked when a voice spoke from behind him, "You seem rather drunk for so early."

The last thing he needed now was a lecture from his father. "Far less than I plan on being. It is my duty as a husband at his wedding feast." Tyrion said honestly and took another large gulp. "This isn't about a wedding or a feast." Lord Tywin told him sternly, "Renly Baratheon had near a hundred feasts." The Imp rested his head on one of his arms, "And?" His father raised his head, "Your wife needs a Lannister child. If you're to give her one you'll need to perform."

Tyrion smirked around the rim of his goblet and swallowed. "I seem to recall you naming me a drunken, little, lust filled, beast." The Hand of the King rolled his eyes. "Indeed I did." The Imp raised his goblet in triumph. "There you have it then! Drinking and lust. None, since King Robert, could match me in these. Except perhaps his only son- Aargh." Lord Tywin yanked the wine away from his son's mouth and slammed it on the table. "Have your drink and jokes. And all the rest of your perverse mockery of me, but you _will_ do your duty." To emphasise the point Lord Tywin took away the one wine flagon away from the table.

After it became apparent that none of the servants would be laying a new flagon on the table, Tyrion went in search of one. He waddled from the high table and to the ones surrounding it. Across the hall he heard his nephew shouting across the hall. "Garlan! Garlan! You still do the drums don't ya?" Oh yes, Bruce could definitely match good King Robert.

His quest for more drink brought the Imp to the balcony. A long table had been backed up here with food for any with the taste for air that smelt like shit. Once he had checked three flagons for a good vintage, Tyrion grabbed the fourth dead set that it would be potent enough. He made to go back the table and openly flaunt his new drink to his father, but from out the hall his sister came in a huff of red swirling skirts.

At first she had not noticed him, as she glared back into the hall, so Tyrion approached and made his presence known. "Rough evening?" He asked coyly. Cersei cast her wrought iron look back at him but the Imp only laughed at her. "I'll take that as a yes." He took a swig from the flagon and approached his sister, who stood scowling into the hall. To stop his senseless swaying Tyrion braced himself on part of a wall and looked up at the Queen.

From inside the hall began at a deep loud rumbling that quickly formed into a controlled banging. Tyrion scouted his eyes through the legs and tables to the source of the banging.

Evidently, bored with the mundane drivel that was being spouted by the musicians hired for the event, Bruce and various other drunkards had taken it upon themselves to create their own music. The instruments consisted primarily of some cleared tables and cutlery, a rolled up piece of parchment acting as a pipe and a drum Bruce appeared to have stolen from the actual drummer.

At first people had only taken an odd interest in the banging from the corner, but after a while the drumming seemed to sink together into an acceptable tune which people began to clap to. _Da da dum-dum, da da dum-dum. _Went the table bangers in repeated motion. On his stolen drum Bruce broke the riff and began to add extra bits. _Da da da dum da da dum dum dum da._ The beating grew louder and more and people began to join the clapping in time to the drumming.

Cups and fist began to slam onto tables in unison with the Crown Prince and his performers. Feet stomped and heads bobbed in time with the beating. Before long the well and truly drunk began to climb onto the tables, stomping, swaying and jumping in time with the music. Tyrion smiled as his favourite nephew abandoned his drum for the table.

"At least someone's enjoying themselves." Tyrion offered his sister as her middle son pulled Tommen onto the table with him, giggling as he jumped up and down with his brother. Cersei sniffed at the scene, "Shouldn't you be with your wife." Tyrion bit down on his lip and retorted, "She doesn't deserve this." His sister laughed heartily and Tyrion knew it wasn't at the way Joffrey's fool Dontos the Red began to dance around the table being pelted with food.

"Deserve? Careful with that word. We might soon find out what you really deserve." Tyrion swallowed another mouthful straight from the flagon. "Will you be marrying the cripple Tyrell with the same dry grace you've been throwing around all day?" Cersei took a drink from her own goblet before she shot down at the Imp.

"I'm not marrying ser Wilas." She said defiantly and her brother just snorted into his drink. "I said the same thing about mine own wedding." He moved his hand and gestured to the whole dancing scene "Yet here we all are. The two of the most unhappy people in Westeros surrounded by a room full of the happiest." Cersei's lips tightened.

"If you want to make Sansa happy give her a child." Tyrion groaned and put more of his weight against the wall. "Not you as well. I've just had the same talk with father." He took another gulp of his wine, "You have children. Are you happy?" Cersei's fist clenched around her glass and turned to face her brother.

"No. I'm not. But if I didn't have my children I would have drowned myself in the sea by now." Tyrion looked up at her and then around. No one seemed to be paying them any mind. "Even if one of them is actually Robert's?" His sister's look turned mournful at that, a move which surprised Tyrion. "Even Bruce." She whispered, so quiet her brother scarcely heard it over the prevailing drum beats.

"He was all I had for a time. Before Myrcella and when Joffery was still being without his teeth." A small smile traced her lips. "I used to spend all day looking at him. His black hair. Those tiny little hands and feet. I knew he would grow, he'd be as tall as Robert and Jaime one day I always knew. He was a sweet baby. He would never be happy unless he was in my arms. I loved him." Tyrion scowled at his sister.

"If you loved him so much, why did you send him away?" The Queen looked as though he had just slapped her, but then she turned soft and looked truly the most tragic a person could ever be. "I didn't want to." She wiped a tear away from her eyes, "Does he still hate me for it?" Cersei asked her little brother. He could think of nothing to say, so he just nodded grimly.

Cersei turned away from the Imp and back to the dancing and gave a light growl. Tyrion followed her line of sight and smiled. His favourite nephew had gone and abandoned Tommen and the dancing for the princess, Arianne. The two were both were red faced and smiling at each other. Bruce held one of her hands with one of his own and poked at her long hair with the other, while the Princess traced her hand along the Prince's beard which looked to be quickly growing back, thicker and blacker than before.

When they kissed softly, Tyrion turned to his sister. "They seem to be getting on well, don't they?" She snorted, clearly dissatisfied and drank some of her own wine, "She's a whore." Tyrion knew he shouldn't have been surprised, "She's to be your new daughter." He offered her with a smiled.

"That whore will be no daughter of mine." Said Cersei with a stomp of her foot. Tyrion rolled his eyes and took a quick sip from the flagon. "Bruce is hardly Baelor the Blessed, you know." He took a large swig to ready himself for his sister's reply. "How do you mean?" Spat the Queen viciously. Tyrion pause and thought a moment. Could she not know? Was she really so dense as to the nature of her son?

Tyrion shook his head and moved away from his sister but she all but shouted him to stop. He turned and faced her one her one last time. "I'll say this; don't expect to see red on the bed sheets the morning after Joff's wedding." With that he left his sister while she gawped first at him, then the Crown Prince and finally at the King and Lady Margaery. Upon reflection he probably should have kept his mouth shut, but he was too drunk to care now.

He returned to the dais and his chair and looked out over his wedding celebrations. The pounding on the drums had more or less given way to the real musicians. His wife was passed dancing from person to person, Mace Tyrell, Ser Garlan, and Lord Redwyne. On and on she went twirling with a brave face.

Over in the corner Bruce had parted from his lady and looked mournful as a pup while his little brother whined at his waist. "I want to be married too," said the plump little princeling, who was all of nine. "I'm taller than uncle Tyrion!" He wasn't, not yet at least, but Bruce put his brother off with gracious promises, still casting his red face over to where Princess Arianne had slinked away to beside her uncle, slyly smiling back at the Prince.

Tyrion speared a piece of meat and a dagger and chewed thoughtfully when he saw his father and Lady Olenna talking with each other. Lord Tywin looked none too pleased and the Master-of-Coin hoped the Queen of Thorns would give the Old Lion a damn good thrashing. Bronn raised a glass to the Imp and he returned the gesture with a smile, while Podrick gave him a timid smile when they looked at each other.

The music had begun to die out and Tyrion was grateful for his head and ears were beginning to strain at the amount of noise, but his reprieve was short lived. Over the lull in the music a high, whiny, sickly voice called out; "Time for the bedding ceremony!" Tyrion hit his head off the table at Joffrey's words. He had hoped to knock himself out, alas he was not successful.

"There will be no bedding." Tyrion gave as he brought his head back up. Joffrey was dragging a very distressed looking Sansa Stark by the hand to in front of the dais. The poor girl looked paler than normal. "Do respect tradition, uncle!" Called the King in glee. "It's time to bed them! Let's get the clothes off her, and have a look at what the she-wolf's got to give my uncle!" Other men took up the cry, loudly. Tyrion repeated his words and gripped his dagger tighter, "I'll have no bedding." Joffrey's grip on Sansa Stark tightened. "You will if I command it."

The Imp slammed his dagger down in the table, where it stood quivering. "Then you'll be fucking your own bride _with a wooden cock!"_ Shouted Tyrion. A shocked silence fell. Sansa pulled away from Joffrey, who moved toward his uncle. Lord Tywin rose from his seat. "I believe we can dispense with the bedding. Tyrion, I am certain you did not mean to threaten the king."

The Imp and the king starred venomously at each other, neither giving way to the other. "What did you say?" Asked Joff, puffing out his chest. He moved toward Tyrion when he heard no answer. "What did you say?!" Shouted the king shrilly. Tyrion leaned further over the table and pulled his dagger from the wood, "Come any closer and I'll geld you, I swear it."

"Your Grace," said Lord Tywin, "my son is drunk, you can see that." If his father meant to defuse the situation, Tyrion would not allow. "Not drunk enough to not be able to enjoy castrating the King." He spat at his father. Ser Meryn Trant stepped out slightly. "No imp will threaten His Grace in front of the Kingsguard!" He said and drew his sword to match Tyrion's dagger.

There was the smashing of glass and Trant fell to the fall. Behind the fallen knight stood Bruce a smashed glass in his hand. "Shuddup!" He shouted at the white knight and raised the crystal shard to point at his brother, "I'll 'ave your lungs out, Joff." Tyrion smirked as Bruce swayed from side to side his eyes fazing, hopefully he fought as well as he danced when drunk.

The king turned round and looked for his mother. "Did you hear them?" He wailed when he found her, "They threatened to geld me! I want their heads!" One very brave man stepped into the clearing to make a move on Tyrion, but Bruce whirled the sharp crystal at the man. "You want 'em, come get 'em!" Said the Crown Prince raising his fists.

Joff pulled his sword on his unarmed brother and ran at him. He slashed wildly at the air, but Bruce kept backing away from the strikes. Eventually, a red faced King shouted out, "Stay still! I want the other eye!" There was a sicken crunch and Joffery whirled back from his brother clutching his face. When the King pulled his hand back he shrieked in horror and stumbled over himself to back off from his brother, as he advanced on him.

When Joffrey fell back into the clearing, the kingsguard finally acted. Ser Arys Ser Boros held their swords across the Crown Prince's chest to stop him. Though he did Bruce only did so to glare at the sworn brothers, who both shrunk back from his flashing, gold eye.

The look Tyrion caught from his father was one he knew he would pay for, if he did not tug on the Lion's leash. "Your Grace," Called the Imp and all eyes turned from the two brothers to their uncle, "Please don't take my head. If you take my tongue, you will leave me no way at all to pleasure this sweet wife you gave me."

Laughter burst from the lips of Ser Osmund Kettleblack and some others sniggered. But Joff, the bloody faced fool, did not laugh and nor Lord Tywin. "I only threatened Your Grace because I envied your royal manhood. Mine own is so small and stunted." His face twisted into a leer.

He hopped down from the dais and grabbed Sansa roughly. "Come, wife, time to raise your portcullis." He tugged on his breeches a little and shouted to the Crown Prince, "Get the battering ram! I going to play come-in-the-castle." Like his father Bruce could never resist a good jape while drunk he spat out a hearty laugh like the rest of them, while Tyrion waddled a red face Sansa Stark out the room.

For their wedding night, they had been granted the use of an airy bedchamber high in the Tower of the Hand. Tyrion kicked the door shut behind them and made straight for the wine flagon. "Is that wise, my lord?" asked Sansa. "Nothing was ever wiser." He slurred and tipped a whole goblet down his throat.

"My Lord father was ordered me to consummate this marriage." Said Tyrion, almost laughing and then he looked at her guiltily as he recalled his first wedding night. "I was married before you." The Stark girl looked like she did not know how to react. "Who was she, my lord?" His mouth twisted, "Lady Tysha." He spat on the floor after he tasted her name, "Of House Silverfist. Their arms have one gold coin and a hundred silver, upon a white and bloody sheet. Ours was a very short marriage... as befits a very short man, I suppose."

"Would you have me undress, my lord?" The Imp cocked his head at his wife. "Tyrion. My name is Tyrion, Sansa." Sansa stared down at her hands and said nothing. "How old are you, Sansa?" He dared to ask after a moment. "Fifteen when the moon turns." Still a child he reasoned. He swallowed more wine, and then thought that she was the same age as his nephew. Not that old, he reasoned. He shook his head after he saw the tears brimming her eyes.

"I can't do it." He told her. She looked surprised by the declaration, "But your father…" Tyrion snorted and threw his cup to the ground. "If my father once someone to get fucked he knows where he can start." He looked at the trembling girl, "I won't share your bed. Not until you want me to."

She shrank back a little. "And if I never want you to?" That cut him deep, but he knew it was to be expected. He flashed her a smile and poured a new cup of wine. "And now my watch begins."


	45. Arianne I

**Archagel9418:** I'm only comparing the two in attitude while drunk, not their natural callings

**Silver crow:** Is this soon enough?

**Saint River:** There will be changes to the Red Wedding but none caused by Bruce, directly at least. As for the switch between Arys and Mandon see Cersei I

**Saint River:** I hope you like this chapter then

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><p><strong><span>Arianne<span>**

After deciding her walk through the gardens had gone on long enough, the Princess of Dorne turned around and made back for the Red Keep and all its treachery. The Red Keep was perhaps the place Arianne was most uncomfortable with in the whole world. It was the most renowned place in the all Seven Kingdoms. The place which all little girls and little boys hope, high and low, want to come and rule in, to fight for it, to die in the name of who sits on the Throne at the centre of the ancient castle. Arianne was entirely sure if any of those little children were to come to the Red Keep they would never again hope to return.

Ruling the kingdoms, a demented child king who bullied, cheated and beat his way through life as his Lannister puppet masters pulled on his strings, fervently trying to force the boy to sing the right tune. Those that fought for it were shadows in the night, yet in the day you would dine with them, joke and talk with the and all the while they would plot to see how your downfall would supplement their own rise to power. And them you died for the Throne? Four white cloaks each tweeting the call of their king or his mother.

It was a truly vile place, which smelt of shit and blood and death. The Heiress of Sunspear wondered if it had always smelt so, whether it smelt this way when her aunt Elia had come here with her Targaryen princeling. Arianne had been four when the Targaryen's had fallen, taking her aunt and cousins with them, but she still knew full well of the hatred that all Dornishmen now bore for Casterly Rock. She had been at the for front of her uncle Oberyn's long call for revenge against the Lannisters who have for so long wished nothing but ill against Dorne.

As a result of this Arianne had been more than a little more than apprehensive when her father had summoned her to the Water Gardens to tell her of her marriage to the Heir of Tywin Lannister. At first she had thought he had meant the Imp, a thought that made her grow ill and weak kneed, but when Prince Doran had said of the King's brother she had never thought prayers could be answered so quick.

The tales of King Robert's second son were famous enough, even if a little far-fetched. He was meant to have been near eight foot tall and built as though he had been cast out of wrought iron. His eyes were said to be purest green and forged with the gold of the Westerlands. It was rumoured that before he had even grown the first hair on his chest he had killed a dozen lions that had been woven into a cloak clasped together with a thousand broaches made from the antlers of a white stag.

Even after word had reached Sunspear of the Prince's defeat in battle the story was still one befitting of a true hero. He had rained hellfire upon the usurper Baratheon's army in a fashion that would have made Aerion Brightflame weep with envy, or so the rumours had said. They also spoke of his battle with his uncle Renly and his kingsguard, how he charged the Highgardeners line along the river, taking only a hundred men against the ten thousand Reachmen, of how in return of his eye he had won the War of the Four Kings.

All of it was over exaggerated of course. The Crown Prince was perhaps only a foot taller than Arianne and made of flesh, bone and a little extra muscle than was normal of most men. His one eye was more like the sea and his other now made of a red and gold patch bound tightly round his head. Upon his own confession, he had only killed the one lion and no white stags unless his uncle counted. He was noble without arrogance, graceful without lacking humility, handsome without dullness.

He seemed to be in every way what a true leader of the realm should be. Alas he would never be king, much to the mourning of many including Arianne, though she had no ambition to be queen only for a good husband and the good prince would be just that to her. They both got on well enough that much was certain. They were both close enough in age, and from respectable houses all was in place for the perfect match.

However, she could not help but have certain worries about it all. Despite his raven hair and great bulk, he was still called Lannister and had the mind, power and cunning of a Lannister. Facts which caused Arianne to worry for her betrothed. Her uncle Oberyn had come with to pay back the Lannisters in blood for his sister and her children, a cause which she was in favour of, but Oberyn was unlikely to see the difference between a good Lannister and a bad one.

The more she thought about it all the more it weighed on her. Even now, as she walked through the gardens of the Red Keep, Arianne could not shake the feelings pressing down on her shoulders. She had hoped that coming to these gardens would help repeal the worries, but these were no Water Gardens. Whenever she thought of home the more the Princess of Dorne missed it.

The oranges from her father's trees would just be ripening about now. Prince Doran would be standing vigil wheelchair as, in the fountains and the pools, the children would still be at their play. She had been gone from that part of her life long ago, yet she still wanted to be back their building castles in the sand with Tyene and Sarella. Her own children would know the same joys she had known, she would make sure of that, this place would not be the undoing of any more Martells.

As her footfalls led her through the hedgerows and overgrown trees that guarded the paths of the gardens, the Princess of Dorne became startled by the sound of soft laughter. It came from seemingly all around and the Dornishwoman felt as though she may have gone slightly mad when it proved to be following her as she walked. Much against her better judgement she followed the noise.

She trailed the smooth marble paths into a one of the larger gardens of the Red Keep. In the centre of the yard, surrounded by a field of the greenest grass, sat the youngest two of the three royal brothers. Noble Bruce and his sweet little brother, Tommen were happily at play with something's Arianne could only identify to be a few bundles of mewling fur.

The Princess of Dorne held back, apprehensively in the shadow of the trees, as the two brothers played. Tommen picked up one of the fur balls and placed it onto the Young Lion's face and rolled backward giggling at the face his brother made. Arianne could now see the bundle to be a small black kitten as it started to paw gently at the golden cat's eye, clinging on to the nose of the prince.

Seeing it was enough to make herself giggle loudly. Once it had been let slip Arianne placed hand over her mouth and caught the wandering green eye of the prince who'd caught her out. With a grunt of "Off," the elder of the two brothers peeled the kitten off his face and beckoned her to enter their presence with a wide wave of his arm.

Upon seeing his brother's betrothed approaching them, Tommen pulled his kittens close to him and looked shyly from her to him. Arianne gave them both a smile and said, "Hello." The Crown Prince smiled up at her as he replied, "Hello, my lady." And bowed his head a little. She returned the curtsy and offered a smile to his little brother.

Tommen hid behind his cats as his face reddened a little and looked to his brother nervously, who took note of his distress. "Tommen," Spoke the older, "Take you kittens inside and go see mother." The timid one obeyed, clutching his baby cats close as walked from the garden flicking his gaze from the two elders.

"I think he likes you." Said Bruce as he rose off of the ground to dust himself off. Arianne smiled as the lad went around the corner and turned to her betrothed. "I think I like him too." The prince looked mockingly wounded by the comment and held a hand out to her. "Not as much as you like me, I hope." She held her head very high and stuck her chin out making her appear proud and unyielding. "And how much would that be?" She asked, taking his hand.

He rubbed his thumb on her knuckles as they began to walk the way Tommen had just gone. "A lot. I know as much after my uncle's wedding." He retorted to her jovially. The comment caused her to smirk. "You say that as if know everything."

"I am still young enough to know everything." She laughed at that. He could be witty enough when he wanted to, a trait he must have learned from the Imp.

They stopped in the shade of a tall hedge. He bent down and kissed her immediately, taking in her sweet taste for all they were worth together. The prince wrapped an arm around her waist and began running the other hand through her flaxen hair. She lifted her arms and sank her finger in his coal-black hair, immersing into the passion between them.

His tongue probe at her lips daringly, a move which she gladly accepted. The princess roamed her hands over the back of his head taking in every inch of it with the touch alone. The coarse, wire-like feel to the strands of neck length hair. The hum in his throat vibrating against her lips. The soft tickling of his whiskers against her cheeks.

It did not take long for the Princess of Dorne to find a most intriguing feature of her Lion. The soft red velvet was a strange feeling beneath her fingers tips. Her hands ran along the circumference of the patch to the front of the Prince's face. After rubbing the intricate threading of the eye work, Arianne began to gently pull back the cloth from the prince's face.

When felt the slackening across his face Bruce seized up and yanked himself away from the Princess. "Don't." He pleaded sharply, "Just… don't." Arianne laid the cloth back in place over his eye, cursing herself silently as she did so. Kissing him on the cheek she gave him an apology before he said, "I don't deserve you." It was meekly said but held all the tragedy and broken spirit capable of a human being.

She gave a small laugh before stroking his cheek gently with the palm of her hand. "I make you happy, don't I?" He gave a timid nod. "And you do love me?" Again he nodded. "Then how could you say that you don't deserve me. Don't deserve all the feelings in which we bring out of each other."

His jaw clenched hard enough Arianne his teeth may shatter. "How can you say that? Look at me! I a blind, bloody fool. A kinslayer, a cripple, a cunt and a-" In order to cease his raging against himself, the Princess of Dorne smothered her lips against the Lion's own, holding him tight against herself. Even as he tried to push away she continued to press kisses against his lips, till he surrendered to her and wove his arms back around her.

She could see the tears prickling his eyes when they broke apart. Arianne pressed a final kiss to his lips and cupped his reddened cheeks in her gentle hands. "You don't love someone for their looks," The Princess told her lover, "or their clothes, or for their money, or fancy title, but because they sing a song only you can hear."

He kissed her next and cupped her own cheeks with his calloused ones. "I love you; please don't ever break my heart." She accepted the promise unreservedly and they smiled at each other, but not before she nimbly japed. "The heart was made to be broken." And kissed him again.


	46. Oberyn

**Naruhina1519: ** Just for being the only one to say what it was, here is a chapter fashioned especially quickly

**greenstripe: **That's exactly what I was trying to hit at.

**SaintRiver: ** One more chapter to wait for yet

**Archagel9418:** A great pity indeed

**DraekonGreycloak: ** Yes this is definitely the final pairing

**Silver crow:** The key word there would be semi

**joe63129:** It's good of you to say so

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><p><strong><span>Oberyn<span>**

When the summons from Lord Tywin arrived, Prince Oberyn had been severely annoyed. It seemed that his sister's murderer was fully intent on calling a Small Council meeting whenever the Prince of Dorne was leaving for the brothel. Prince Oberyn had been of a mind to tell the messenger to shove the letter up the old man's cunt, but when it had been one of the kingsguard he had reconsidered it. If one of the king's playthings had been to fetch the Red Viper it most certainly had to be an event of great importance.

So out of blatant curiosity, if nothing else, Prince Oberyn bid farewell to Ellaria and promised to be with her in an hour. Ser Boros Blount led him quickly to the Tower of the Hand. The air of the Crownlands was brisk, just as he'd been warned by Arianne, and there was a smell of rain in the air. Perhaps when Lord Tywin was done with him he should go and fetch warmer garbs for himself and Ellaria.

The amount of surprise Prince Oberyn felt when he entered the Small Council chambers could scarcely be contained. Lady Cersei, Lord Tywin, Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Varys and the Lord of Highgarden were all seated around the table all but the King and his Hand were looking expectantly toward a sheet of paper gently laid on a table in front of Pycelle.

"Prince Oberyn." They all chimed one by one, aside from the Fat Flower who grunted at him sulkily. He offered them all his usual greeting and took his normal seat. "A pleasure to see you here, Your Grace." The Red Viper offered the king, who paced gleefully about the room. "Show him. Go on. Show him!" shouted the King at the failing Grand Maester.

The Dorinshman raised his hands in dismissal, "Please no, Your Grace. It seems that we still have to wait for two other members of the council. If we cannot wait for them we should have to have the Maester here lecture us on the virtues of patience." King Joffery scowled but let it slide as his pacing increased.

It was at least another half an hour before the final members joined the council. They entered as thick as thieves, though both being Lannister it was unsurprising, and halted instantly the moment they saw Joffery. The Imp and the Lion exchanged wary glances with each other and then raised expectant brows at Lord Varys, who simply offered a shrug back at them.

Bravely, the two took their seats opposite Lord Tywin. "Killed a few kittens today?" Asked the Crown Prince of his brother as he paced close to the table. "Show them." Barked the king at his grandfather, "Show them." Prince Oberyn savoured the look on Lord Tywin's face, before he looked to his daughter.

Lady Cersei offered the Prince of Dorne the roll of parchment. Someone had flattened it, but it still wanted to curl. He turned over and sought the seal. The wax was silvery-grey, and pressed into it were the twin towers of House Frey. So the Late Lord Walder was involved as well, this would most definitely be interesting. Rather than read the message himself, the Red Viper passed the message down the line to his nieces betrothed.

Bruce made the same inspection of the workings Prince Oberyn had done, before he handed it to Tyrion, who impatiently snatched it from his nephew's hand. The Imp read the message aloud. "Roslin caught a little wolf in the woods. Her brothers cooked up two fat trout's for her wedding." Then he inspected the seal. "Is the Lord of the Crossing a bad poet or is this meant to mean something."

"Edmure Tully is dead!" Joffrey sounded so proud and happy you might have thought he'd done the work himself, "And Robb Stark is our prisoner!" He paced round the table puffing his chest out and flaunting his colours like a peacock. "First Renly and now Robb Stark. Kings are falling like leaves this autumn," Noted Prince Oberyn. "It would seem your little war is winning itself."

Lord Tywin's daughter seemed less convince. "Wars do not win themselves. The Hand of the King has won this war." But the man himself less convinced, and was quick to argue them both. "Nothing is won so long as we have enemies in the field." He warned them intently, though the queen was of no mind to agree.

"The River Lords are no fools. Without the Northern hordes at their back they cannot hope to stand against the full power of The Rock, Reach and Dorne. They would have to choose defeat and submission over annihilation." Lord Tywin was gracious enough for his daughter's sake. "Most would, yes. But Riverrun still stands, and the Blackfish will no doubt be quick to avenge his nephew and nieces deaths. The Mallisters and Blackwoods will fight on for the sake of their own honour, but Frey can keep Lord Jason held up against Seaguard. I'll offer the rest of them generous terms, they'll all bend the knee before long."

Child king Joffery seemed most displeased by this. "They all be put to the sword," He declared suddenly, "All of them Northman and Riverman alike. All the traitors will mount the Keeps walls, grandfather. I'll not have generous terms under my reign." The boy turned to Grand Maester Pycelle. "Write to Lord Frey and tell him to have Robb Stark sent to the capital." He then moved to speak to his brother, "Have your Butcher sharpen his cleaver. He'll serve Sansa her brother's head at my wedding feast."

Lord Varys seemed unsettled beneath his fine silks. "Your Grace, the Lady Sansa is now your aunt by marriage." The king's mother gave a small laugh. "A jest. Joff did not mean it." Joffrey made a serious face. "Yes I did." He insisted, "He is a traitor and I'll have his father's head to go along with his fathers. First I'll make Sansa kiss his head while he's alive. Then after his heads come off she'll kiss it again."

"No." The Imp's voice was deathly hoarse and dry like Dornish sand, "Sansa is no longer yours to torment." The King gave a half laugh. "Everyone is mine to torment." His brother's fist banged hard on the table. "Not while I have breath in me. Understand that, monster." If this was how he acted over another man's wife, Prince Oberyn found little cause to worry over his niece.

Joffrey sneered. "You're the monster, Bruce." The Imp cocked his head at his older nephew. "Is he? May be you ought to speak to him more softly, then." The Red Viper could not hold back his smile as the rest of the Small Council looked incredulously at the dwarf. The youngest Lannister in the room gave a dark smile, "Monsters are dangerous creatures, and as of now kings are just dying like flies."

Each of the councillors shared stunned glances with each other. "I could have your tongue out for that." The boy king said, his face reddening, "I will have you both punished." Lady Cersei rose and put a protective arm around the king's shoulder. "Let the dwarf make his threats. He is a bitter little man." The Fat Flower spoke up for the first time, "Lord Tyrion and Bruce should apologise immediately."

Joffrey yanked himself away from his mother. "I am the king!" He wailed. From down the table Lord Tywin spoke up. "Any man who must say I am the king is no true king. Your father and his predecessor never understood that. You will, once I've one your war for you. The only head you should concern yourself with is Margaery Tyrell's maidenhead." The King's brother and nephew shared a snigger with each other at that.

Fearing the dents being put into his armour, the king drew back defiantly and said, "You speak of the Mad King and my father, grandfather, but you were scared of them both." Now everyone looked stunned. Had the king truly gone mad?

From the way Joffrey continued Prince Oberyn assumed he had. "My father fought the real war. He won all the battles. He killed Prince Rhaegar. He took the crown. While you hid beneath Casterly Rock!" And set his dog on my sister. The boy king raised his chin, "A great king acts boldly."

Lord Tywin studied his oldest grandson in silence. "The king is tired." He told his daughter, "See him to his chambers." Cersei gave a tug on His Grace's arm. "Come along now." She said, but Joffrey kept his feet planted. "I'm not tired." He said, but his grandfather had thought of that. "Grand Maester, something to help the king rest easy?"

"Dreamwine, my lord" Lord Tywin nodded. "I don't want any Dreamwine!" Shouted the king, while his mother kept pulling him out the door and handed him over to the two kingsguard by the door. Pycelle scurried on after them, as Cersei retook her seat.

"Father, I am sorry" said the Queen Regent when the door shut, "Joff has always been strongly willed." The Old Lion snorted, "There's a thousand years difference between a strong will and stupidity. 'A great king acts boldly?' Who filled his head with such nonsense?" Cersei shrank back a little from that. "Not me I promise you." She was a bad liar when pushed, "Probably something Robert told him."

"The part about hiding under The Rock sounds very Baratheon." Prince Oberyn hoped Lord Tywin would always remember that part. "Yes," coughed Lady Cersei, "I remember Robert telling him such things." The Hand of the King looked insulted by the comment. "And what were you telling him? I did not fight a war for another Robert." His other grandson chimed darkly, "Not another Robert. A third Aerys."

All the council aside from the Imp were dismissed after that. As the Prince of Dorne walked out the room he pulled a long side the Crown Prince quickly. He'd been hoping to catch a word with the Lion for too long now.

They each bowed lightly to the other and descended Lord Tywin's tower. "An eventful meeting, no?" Offered Prince Oberyn. The other prince gave a small laugh. "Indeed." He then gave a small frown and slowed his pace. "I don't think we've ever spoken alone together like this, My Lord." The Red Viper had his own laugh. "Is that a thought which frightens you? The first time we ever spoke, you, rather drunkenly, asked me for a dance." The lads face reddened slightly and he smiled a little more. "Did you accept?" Oberyn smiled back at him. "I redirected you to my niece, instead. It would not suite to make her jealous." "Quite." Agreed the Crown Prince. They went to a rather uncomfortable silence after that, and Prince Oberyn saw fit to break it.

"Arianne tells me you are both getting along well." The younger prince went timid and smiled at that, "I think we are as well. I… I like her very much." Prince Oberyn narrowed his eyes at that. "It seems all Martell Princesses have a weakness for Crown Princes." King Joffrey's brother stiffened a little but kept walking. "I wouldn't know." He lied with a hoarse voice.

Their feet now clicked on the stone of a corridor beneath the Tower of the Hand. "Do you know what happened the last time a prince of the realm married a Lady of Dorne?" Oberyn could hear the teeth of his companion grinding against one another. "It would have been your sister and the Last Dragon." Answered the Lannister.

The Red Viper nodded. "Yes, and do you know what happened to Targaryen?" He growled at that. "What do you want from me, Prince Oberyn?" A sharp lad, if nothing else, noted the Prince of Dorne. "I want to know all your grandfather and the Kingslayer told you about what happened to my sister." The lad didn't seem to mind that much.

"What I know? I know nothing. Only the same whispers you will have heard." Oberyn snorted disdainfully. "But," continued the Crown Price, "I do know some of the truth in them." They stopped and faced each other.

"It is common knowledge in Casterly Rock that Gregor the Mountain raped your sister and dashed her son against a wall." Oberyn's fist clenched hard. "But it was Ser Armory Lorch who killed your niece and sister, after Clegane was done with them. It was he also who wrapped them in Lannister cloaks to hide the blood, but I can assure you that neither of them acted on my grandfather's orders."

He snorted at that. "How can you be so sure? If all you heard is the same rumours as I." The Lannister sighed and pinched his nose. "I know my grandfather, Oberyn. He would do many things but order the deaths of two infants? No. He would have given the children as gifts to my father for proof of loyalty, and sent your sister back to Dorne." If Prince Oberyn was right about this lad, he was being smart enough not to lie about it, but that didn't make it true.

"I thank you for telling me this, my lord. Though I would ask something else of you." The younger Prince smiled at that. "I'd be welcome to answer them." Not as much as you think. "How do you imagine being related to the man who commanded the murders of a hundred men at their own wedding?" He was taken aback by that, "It makes one wonder what might happen at their own wedding."

"Are you threatening me?" Oberyn smiled at the flash of anger of his niece's betrothed. "No. If I threatened you I'd only live to regret it from Arianne. However… your uncle Imp." Bruce growled at the Prince of Dorne. "If you harm Tyrion, my uncle Jaime will drag you from whatever hovel you're hiding under. He will pin you down and _I _will bite your bollocks off, chew them into eight pieces and ram one bit up the cunt of each of your bastard girls." He went to strut away, but stopped a moment. "Don't ever threaten anyone I love again, and yes that does include Arianne."

As the Lion with Antlers marched off, Prince Oberyn could not help but feel a slight loosening in his rear end. Perhaps he ought to change before going to the brothel.


	47. Bruce XIII

**Bruce**

If his hands would ever stop bloody shaking, Bruce knew it would be a miracle. He'd been stood inside of the Great Sept for a hour at least and his whole person from balls to brain felt as though it had all gone to water as he took up his position at the marriage alter. Off to the side hung the High Septon, his new gold crown was spun with ornate jewellery. Each time his head move rainbow light flashed and showered the whole room in a dazzling array.

Baelor's great sept had been transformed from the regular grand but gloomy look into something truly beautiful. Myrish silk bunting had been draped from the ceilings of the domes. Lion and stag banners stood tall across the hall above the witnesses, in addition to the hastily erected banners of house Martell.

Bruce shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, and clenched and unclenched his grip on the maiden cloak in his arms. In order not to offend the Dornish, Lord Tywin conceded to the fact that the Crown Prince would be better off in cloaking his bride in a banner similar to that of the king's. Across the cloak were the roaring lion of House Lannister and the crowned stag of the House Baratheon. Both stag and lion faced each other, heads raised proudly in defiance of the other. The Crown Prince did see the point in changing his coat of arms, and he felt his bride would not have minded that much either, what he did mind was the Princess of Dorne taking so long.

As was typical of all Westerosi weddings the groom and all the witnesses arrived first, while the bride would enter once the father, or in this case uncle, deemed the bride ready to enter. Sansa Stark had been in almost immediately after Tyrion had come, but Bruce was not wedding the Stark maid, thank the gods. He was being wed to a Martell of Sunspear, and the Martells would always demand perfection, especially in front of the Lannisters.

"Your mother seems to think you're looking rather nervous." Said a waist high voice from behind the Crown Prince. He smiled and turned around to look at Tyrion. "And she sent you to reassure me." The Imp nodded and steeped closer to his nephew and offered him a small flask. "You'll need it." Bruce took it and had a few sips.

"Some reassurance." Laughed the Prince as he handed the wine skink back to this uncle. Tyrion smiled and drained the rest of the wine, looking rather bleakly at his own wife. "The King looks quite sulky today." He noted, turning his mismatched eyes from the Stark girl. Bruce laughed when he followed the dwarfs gaze. Even in his crown, cape and colours, Joffrey's look reminded his brother of when they were in the nursery together and mother would take toy from him to give his younger brother.

"Your work?" Tyrion asked his nephew. Bruce nodded and looked down to the Imp smiling. "I told him, if he pulled another stunt, like he tried to pull at your wedding, I'd drag him outside to the statue of Baelor, and beat his head off the stone until the love of the Seven had been knocked into him." His uncle threw his head back laughing and staggered back down the stairs to beside his own wife.

He looked around the sept a final time. His uncle had entertained about fifty for his wedding to the Stark girl, Bruce had at least ten times as many. All the Lords of Dorne, plus their squires, knights and noble retainers had turned up in full bloom. Sandy, salty and stony Dornishmen all stood together bristling in union at the presence of so many Reachmen and Westerlanders. Bruce noted that perhaps if any wedding was most likely to end in blood, it would have been his own and not the Tully's.

The Red Wedding men had taken to calling it, a fitting name and one to be remembered for a long time to be sure. His grandfather had planned the whole thing of course. With Roose Bolton rotting in a cell beneath Casterly Rock, and his bastard Ramsay eager to free him, it was easy enough to organise and Lord Walder was easy enough to sway, the Twins could only hold so many Frey's and Casterly Rock was full of Lannister bachelors and maids.

Ramsay Snow had brought fresh legions from the North to meet with Robb Stark, before going to evict the Ironborn from their captured homes. If only Stark had been less trusting of Frey and kept his word.

Robb would be brought to King's Landing for trial and no doubt an execution. Bruce wondered if this one would also be on the steps of Baelor, or perhaps Stark would be granted the mercy his father had begged for. The Crown Prince then thought of Ice. Eddard Stark's greatsword had been safely kept hidden away in a chest beneath Bruce's bed for near enough a year now. He'd promise to return it to the Starks of Winterfell come winter, but it was looking more and more likely that there would be none left by then.

As he continued to look around the room the Prince took in the fact that the Tyrell presence was notably slim. From what he knew of Lord Mace, after having spent two years as an honoured guest of his, the young Lion would have thought the Fat Flower would have taken any opportunity to flaunt his house to all, or perhaps the Dornish were a different matter, as he preferred to sulk in a corner next to his wife and mother, putting to shame Joffrey's pout with his own.

Of the Tyrells that were present, the one to catch the Crown Prince's eye was the Lady Margaery. A faint pang in his heart rang out when he looked at her. In a kinder world it may have been her he was waiting on. Thinking back on their time in Highgarden it seemed so peculiar that he wasn't wedding her. Bruce knew both the Lords of the Reach and their land inside out almost, and Wilas Tyrell had gone as far as to call him brother once. It was a pity but here and now, thinking of his wife to be, it didn't bother him.

Lord Tywin's retainers and lords were out in full, beneath the proud lions of their master. Bruce had no doubt why there was more of them here than had been at Tyrion's wedding. He was future Lord of The Rock and what better way to curry favour than attending than attend his wedding. How would Prince Oberyn take it when his niece ascended the throne of The Rock was a question Bruce found quite puzzling.

A cringing of iron hinges and creaking of old wood alerted them whole Sept to the arrival of the bride. Princess Arianne entered on her uncle's arm, wearing following orange gown made from the softest silks of Myr and studded with Braavos' finest gems. Her face was covered with a veil that poorly hid her gleaming dark eyes and the smile she fetched him. He smiled back at her and straightened his back and stood as tall as he could without going to his the tip of his toes.

Running a hand through his long black hair, Bruce became all too aware of how hot he had become beneath his red and gold doublet and gave a little tug on the stag broach that was digging into the base of his neck. He was suddenly glad that his mother had forbid him to wear his lion skin, sweating like a pig in heat was hardly a good look for a groom at his wedding.

When his niece arrived at the alter Prince Oberyn lifted the veil from his nieces face and let her take her place beside the Crown Prince. Arianne's smile widened a little and Bruce found himself grinning like a fool. She always had a very pretty smile ready for him.

Finally, the High Septon came forward with his jewelled crown flashing in the sunlight the reflection covering the couple in rainbow light. The seven vows were made, the seven blessings given, and the seven promises exchanged. After the wedding songs were sung it was time for the cloaks to be changed.

Prince Oberyn stepped up to the alter and removed the maiden cloak of his niece with the grace Joffrey had failed to give Sansa Stark. The young Lannister unfurled his bride's cloak and shook it out with a gentle flourish. He draped Arianne in the proud lion and stag banner, clasping it together around her throat. She seemed to shrink a little under the weight of the heavy cloak placed on her shoulders, so Bruce evened it out and smoothed a crease out along her shoulder before the Princess of Dorne turned back to face him.

They took each other hand in hand and spoke the words; "With this kiss I pledge my love." And did exactly that. Being such a short thing Arianne propped herself on her tip toes a little so Bruce didn't have to bend so low. Their kiss was deep and tenderer than any of their previous ones had been. After they parted the High Septon finally declared Bruce of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister and Arianne of House Nymeros Martell to be one flesh, one heart, one soul.

All the streets of King's Landing were lined with spectators clapping and jeering in joy. It could have been just a practice for the real wedding they all wanted, but Bruce could help feel there was something more than genuine behind them. Perhaps they remembered now who had saved them from the wroth of the usurper and given his own eye so that they might live. He was now the handsome young prince, who had fought and jousted so finely in his father's name, again he was not the One-Eyed Lion, not the Kinslayer. He was the Lion with Antlers, the one whom the mob had clamoured to be their king.

Or it could have been the Dornish Princess riding the horse beside him. Mayhaps they remembered the last Crown Prince to wed a Lady of Dorne. Maybe now Bruce was Prince Rhaegar and Arianne had become Princess Elia, the Queen that had been so evilly robbed from the realm.

Ser Arys and Balon Swann came in front of the procession in their white scale armour and snowy cloaks atop their grey mounts. Then came Prince Tommen, scattering rose petals from a basket before the newlyweds. Occasionally the youngest prince would turn around on his pony to look back at Bruce and his bride and fetch them both a wave. They would smile, wave back and then lean over to kiss one another making the young lad blush and go back to flinging flower petals on the street floor.

After Bruce and Arianne came the royal litter entombing Lady Margaery and the King. Once in a while a peasant would shout out from the Flower of Highgarden, but any hope of the cry being carried would quietened by the look the Red Viper threw out at the crowd.

From behind the king and his soon to be wife came the Prince of Dorne and Queen Regent both with tight faces and comely looks. Then came Lord Tywin and Prince Oberyn's paramour, his grandfather's face was brave enough but Bruce could see through it. It was surprising the Red Viper had allowed for the Lord of the Rock to have the Sand girl on his arm, but perhaps he wanted to dent his pride somehow. Tyrion and Sansa's litter was the last one of importance to come up with the newlyweds.

Upon arrival at the Red Keep everyone was immediately filled into the Throne Room. All the tables and benches and chairs had been readied for the king's wedding and rather than waist only on Joffery and Margaery it had been agreed that they could make better use of it for two weddings, not one.

Outside of the great hall, the long line of well-wishers came forth, some with gifts, some without. Bruce would have his hand shook and Arianne would have her hand kissed. She is good at this, he thought, as he watched her tell Ser Marrbrand that his cough was sounding better, compliment Lady Margaery on her gown, and question Sansa Stark about wedding customs in the North. Before long they were moved to their seats.

The guests stood along the tables as heralds called out the names and titles of the lords and ladies making their entrance. Pages in the royal livery escorted them down the broad central aisle. The gallery above was packed with musicians; drummers and pipers and fiddlers, strings and horns.

Bruce and his wife were seated beneath the shadow of the Iron Throne, draped for the occasion in long silk streamers of Baratheon gold, Lannister crimson, and the fiery colours of Martell. Once all were rightly seated the king stood up from the only chair on level with the bride and grooms' and then he proclaimed, "Let the cups be filled!" Cupbearers darted forth instantaneously, filling every cup in the room full to the brim. "To my brother! And his new wife!" The cry was taken up by all the hall and near a thousand cups rang together, and the wedding feast was well and truly begun.

Whereas his brother would have seventy seven courses Bruce was having to make do with ten. The first dish was a creamy soup of mushrooms and buttered snails, served in gilded bowls. Bruce finished his soup quickly, wiped his mouth with a cloth and looked to his wife. Arianne took a spoonful of soup and pushed the bowl away. "Not to your liking, my lady?" He asked.

"Not to my taste, lover." He laughed. Of course, she was Dornish. Her blood was of the Rhoynish variety, she craved the heat of the sun, the sting of snake venom and the taste of fiery peppers. The Crown Prince laid his hand atop hers and entwined their fingers. "We'll have to fix that then." With his free hand he beckoned a servant.

The man approached, pox faced and sweaty. "Aye, Milord." Bruce picked up Arianne's bowl and handed it to the man. "My wife would like the Dornish foods to be served now." The servant became distressed at that. "But M'lord, the queen said the Dornish dishes would be served-" Bruce cut in sharply, "When I bloody well want them to. Now go serve them, or you'll be wearing that bowl as your new codpiece." He took off as quickly as he came.

As expected the Dornish treats and delicacies, much to the delight of the Crown Prince's wife. She brushed her lips on his cheek, right where the untamed whiskers met the reddening skin. "Thank you, lover." He smiled at that. "You're my wife now, Arianne." He told her, "I want you to be happy." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it to prove the fact.

"I know you do." They shared a deep kiss with each other. "Now," His new wife said raising her goblet of wine, "Let us eat, drink and be happy." Bruce did as his wife bid. Arianne fed him morsels off her plate and he returned the gesture. They drank from the same cup, and would kiss often and unpredictably. When they did Bruce would bury his hands in her soft ringlets and her hand would tangle themselves in his beard.

At some point during the third and fourth course a tune was struck up. Bruce felt the smile of Arianne's lips against his own. She pulled away and fetched him a sly smile, "Shall we dance?" He drained their cup quickly, "After last time? No." Her pout would not break him, he swore that much. The Princess of Dorne tugged on his arm a little, "Come dance with me," She pleaded, as he poured more wine into their shared chalice, "You danced very well at your uncle's wedding."

He gave a look as solid as Casterly Rock. "No. At my uncle's wedding I ended up asking _your_ uncle to dance. What kind of a tit will I make of myself at my own wedding?" His look turned from her to the first few who would take to the dance floor. Arianne gave a huff and stood up from the dais.

Seeing his wife dancing in the provocative way she had done at Tyrion's wedding made the Young Lion growl. He knew too well he wasn't the only one who was thinking what he was, especially from the way Arianne was determined to flaunt her curves. She passed from one guest to the other each reacting in different ways.

Mace Tyrell made the same jump and step buffoonery he called dancing with a half scowl, half smile at the bride of the day. Ser Addam wove his way about deftly about the Princess of Dorne, seemingly all too aware of the eye upon him. Garlan Tyrell had the grace to decline the offer to dance but that didn't stop Lord Redwyne. Each time his wife moved to a new dancer she would cast a glance back at Bruce. Ha! He thought, she'll have to do better than that. She tried.

When it became apparent to her that Joffrey was too occupied with Lady Margaery and Tyrion knowing his nephew better, the new bride set her sights on perhaps the most controversial target. Lord Tywin danced in the same way he conducted war. Patiently and carefully, and thankfully it paid off.

Arianne backed down from the Old Lion when she caught the eyes of the Red Viper. Bruce smirked and continued to drain his goblets in quick succession. If she comes back now I'll dance with her, he told himself she'd provided enough of a spectacle for one day.

He cursed himself for his smugness after his wife saw it. Her resolve only deepened and she picked up a familiar sight of golden curls and green eyes. Bruce almost choked, when his wife tugged upon the arm of Lancel Lannister, he then prayed gods it hadn't been Joffrey.

Bruce frowned at the way the Princess of Dorne now danced with Bruce's cousin. Every time their hips brushed the Antlered Lion took a mouthful of wine. Lancel, sneered the Prince to himself, he always was a little prick. Used to strut up and down The Rock flaunting himself like a whore to the servants, while poor Martyn and Willem had to bow and scrape for him, as if he were Lord of The Rock. I should have put his teeth out while I could.

Arianne gave a seductive spin around Ser Lancel, and Bruce drained a full chalice. _Ser_ Lancel. Pah! He was no knight. He wasn't even a squire, just used to fill King Robert's cup with wine and hold his cock while he pissed it back out. They'll give a knighthood to anyone these days. Bruce bit into a piece of crackling from the pig laid onto the table and downed another goblet. The grease from pig skin ran down his chin but Bruce didn't care.

The tune changed to a slower one but still the Princess of Dorne did not move from Lancel, if anything they moved closer. Bruce had some more wine, she playing him for a fool, she'd come back. Soon.

Lancel's head moved dangerously close to Arianne's and even with his vision as hazed as it was, Bruce could tell that they were whispering to each other. The Lion with Antlers rubbed at the scarred crater beneath his scarlet eye patch vigorously as his wife threw her head back laughing. His teeth were now grinding against each other. He may be mighty Ser Kevan's son, but he has milk in his veins, Arianne needed hot blood to go with the heat of the Dornish sand in her heart.

Arianne snaked her arms around Ser Lancel's neck and Bruce began to wish how he would break it as the whelp began to draw his own around Arianne's back. He was a pious fool as well, ever since the Blackwater. The Dornishwomen would have sooner had Renly's corpse between her legs than a god bothering cunt like Lancel.

The whelp's hand drew south of Arianne's back and Bruce found as it moved the louder his growl got. And what had he actually done during the battle? I sent him with five hundred men to throw back Renly and he comes back with his tail between his legs. Where was the justice in that? I lose an eye and he gets a-

"Bastard." Cursed the Crown Prince to himself, as his glass goblet shattered in his hand. If he hadn't seen what he had Bruce might have cared for his wine covered hand. He did a double take of Ser Lancel's hand. It was placed, rather comfortably on the newly wedded woman's rear end and squeezing. Any brains his cousin actually had Bruce would paint the Red Keep with.

Calmly as possible, Bruce wiped the wine and grease from his mouth and strode from the dais. He pushed through the Lords and Ladies as they danced, most were smart enough to part themselves to create gap for the new husband to stalk through. One serving girl was unfortunate enough to take a wrong step and got trampled beneath the feet of the prowling lion. Bruce was fortunate people were enjoying themselves too much not to notice him for the most part.

Arianne had been gracious enough to lead Ser Lancel into a corner while he kept petting her bum. Once or twice he had tried to nip at lips but the Princess of Dorne had the viper reflexes of her uncle and denied him. Swaying slightly from side to side behind his cousin Bruce garnered to try and get his attention.

First, he coughed. Nothing. Then he coughed loudly to the same result. Bruce cracked his knuckles. Second, he called Lancel's name. As expected he was ignored. After the second, slightly louder call was beaten Bruce placed his legs shoulder width apart. Finally he tapped the wife groper on the shoulder. Without looking his cousin waved a hand to dismiss him, as though he were a servant. Bruce raised his chin proudly and tapped Lancel on the shoulder again. The drunk knight turned and faced him at last. "Fugg off." He slurred, "I'm busy." And put his back to the Prince.

Bruce's fist had meant to catch Ser Lancel in the base of the spine, but upon reflection the kidney was as good a place. The force of the punch sent the whelp bending double in agony and Bruce vaguely remembered of being told his cousin had taken a crossbow bolt to the lower back, but that wasn't his concern now. He stepped close to his wife and backed her up against the wall.

She looked up at him, smiling daintily. "Will you dance with me now?" He didn't give her a response, preferring to pull his wife close and pulling her mouth to his and wrapped his strong arms around her. "You shouldn't get so jealous." She warned the Crown Prince when they broke apart. Bruce grunted and kicked at the Lannister cousin sprawled across the floor. "You're mine." He told his wife, claiming her lips again. Her mouth opened under his, and her luscious curves were being roamed on by his hands.

A brief moan escaped her lips once they parted, both panting and sweating from the heat sweltering throughout the smoke filled room. "I am yours." Arianne told her husband cupping his cheeks with her hand, "And you are mine. You are my sweet lion." She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, nose and chin. "Now come and dance with me." Bruce smiled at that, and let her tug him to the floor leaving battered Ser Lancel to his own fate.

They danced close to each other for a few songs before they were parted again. Arianne retracted into a less provocative style of dance after that, her point having being made while her husband did his best not to fall over. The Young Lion danced with a whole host of Ladies by the time it had begun to turn to dusk.

First it was his own mother who looked at him with tears in her eyes and brushed a few of his raven locks behind his ear. Then he moved on to Ser Garlan's wife, Lady Leonette Fossoway, whose pregnant belly made it look as though the Crown Prince was trying to shift a wardrobe dressed in Tyrell silks. Ellaria Sand seemed to dance in a slightly more reformed way than Arianne which was a nice, if sudden, change from the gloomy façade Sansa Stark had danced with and she would occasionally spy a quick glance over to where Tyrion was brooding beside Bronn and his squire.

It wasn't long before the prince's legs were tired and feet bruised from ache, so he took back to his dais. More food and fresh wine had been laid along the high table in front of the bride and groom chairs and Bruce found himself grateful for the drink. The hall's air was thick and hot. A fire roared in the hearth and rows of torches burned from iron sconces on the walls. Yet most of the heat came off the bodies of the wedding guests. Them who had failed to remain on the dance floor were jammed in so thick along the benches that every man who tried to lift his cup poked his neighbour in the ribs.

A good practice for Joffrey's wedding. No doubt the Queen Regent and Lord Tywin were taking note of all the problems with this wedding to have them flattened out in time for the King's, speaking of who. "Silence! Silence, everyone!" Commanded Joffrey in his crackling voice, thick with wine. If Bruce had been sober he would have given some jape, as it was Joffrey making the most noise anyway. "The septon has prayed his prayers, some words have been said, and my brother has wrapped his Princess in his cloak, but they are not yet man and wife. Every sword needs a sheath, heh, and every wedding needs a bedding!"

It didn't take long for all the drunken lords to take up the king's call. "To bed! To bed! To bed with them!" Bruce looked across the hall to his wife and saw that the Lords of Dorne which had surrounded her began to pull and tear at her clothing as they lifted their princess above them.

Bawdy jokes and drunken japes were flung across the room in quick succession. From a table close to the dais Tyrion the Imp climbed atop the table with at goblet in hand. "Here's to our One-eyed Lion's, one-eyed lion." A gust of laughter followed and many took up the dwarf's toast. Bruce rose his own goblet and stood. "And a mighty lion it is!" He proclaimed. "No, I'll bet it's a kitten." Garlan the Gallant shouted across the hall.

Before he could shout back another jest, the guests swarmed the dais, the drunkest in the forefront as ever. Traditionally only the maids and mothers would carry the groom, but Bruce suddenly became a free for all. The men and boys surrounded the Antlered Lion and pulled him over the table, scattering all fine food and drink placed upon it, whilst the women began tugging at his clothing. He was laughing and shouting bawdy jokes back at them, though his voice was drowned out by the jeering excitement of them below him.

It wasn't long before husband and wife were carried from the hall, a trail of clothing behind them. There were far many more attending to Arianne than had right to be, noted the Crown Prince. He caught sight of the drunken lords trying to cope a feel of the bride's teats and more than one succeeding. The Princess of Dorne took it all in her stride, she returned all the banter graciously and a few men left the carrying to others for laughing at the Dornish girl's japes, she even seemed to be enjoying it though that was more than likely pretend.

Bruce found himself being flung into a room head first, his head hitting off a hard stone floor with a thud. He laid there for a while and heard the door bang shut, the drunken jeering being left on the other side of the hard oak. His heart was thundering against his ears as he began to rise and he winced a little, his head wasn't the only thing he landed on.

Once on his feet he took a look around at the room provided. For their wedding night, they had been granted the use of a spare bedchamber high in the Tower of the Hand. It was large and dim room with a low ceiling, lit by a pair of scented candles that flickered from the wind blowing in from the open window. He saw patterned Myrish carpets underneath his bare feet, a tapestry upon one wall, and a bed. Before long Bruce became aware of a missing presence. "My lady?" he called. "Arianne? Where are you?"

"Here." She stepped out from the shadows next to the innate king-size bed. The wedding guests had done a good enough job of riding her of all she had worn, only an ornate snake coiled around her right forearm, its copper and gold scales glimmering in the candle light when she moved. His throat felt as dry as the Dornish sands she would rule over. Silent he stood, drinking in the glories of her body, the hollow of her throat, the round ripe breasts with their huge dark nipples, the lush curves at waist and hip.

"Come to me, lion." Called his wife and, ever the dutiful husband, he obeyed. He held her against him, sliding their tongues together and locking their mouths. Her skin was smooth beneath his fingers, as warm as sun baked Dornish sand. His hands were filled by her breasts and her nipples stiffened as his thumbs brushed over them. Her hair was black and thick and smelled of sandstone and silken flowers, a dark and earthy smell that made him so hard it almost hurt.

"Touch me." She whispered between their parted lips. His hand slipped down her rounded belly to find the sweet wet place beneath the thicket of black hair. "Yes, there," she murmured as he slipped a finger up inside her. A whimper escaped her lips as he added a second and curled them. Using his shoulders she jumped up and latched her body to his, mashing their lips together as he pumped her with one hand and stopped her from falling from him with the other.

Before long they found the bed, mouths pressed together muffling the moans of the Dornish Princess as her husband worked his fingers inside her. Arianne wrapped her fingers around his member and pressed it where his fingers drove inside. "More, oh more, yes, sweet, my lion, my lion, my sweet black lion, yes you, you, I want you." Her hands guided him inside her, then slipped around his back to pull him closer. "Deeper," she whispered. "Yes, oh." Her legs pressed harder against his back to drive him further inward.

Bruce brought his hands to the small of her back and pulled her against him as much as he could. Her nails raked his back as he drove into her, again and again and again, and he couldn't tell if it was sweat or blood running across his back. These were scars he'd willingly bear forever. "Roar for me, Lion." The command came as a shock. That voice was no longer her own, it was something so different and foreign he dare not question it. As he let out a roar worthy only of a lion of Casterly Rock, Arianne screamed and arched her back beneath him and her walls tightened like vice. Her fingers found his nipples and pinched hard till he spent his seed within her.

They laid in their afterglow for the longest time and Bruce whispered against her breast, "Kill me now. So that I might die happy." It was sure to make his wife smile. He meant to roll off her and sprawl along the bed, but with the lock of Arianne's leg's still entwining them, she sprawled along him as well.

"I love you." She murmured against his neck. She slid a hand across his chest and began to make circles along his skin, making him shiver. "I love you too." He whispered back and let his eye shut for a moment, listening only to the rhythm of their hearts beating. The touch of her fingers moved up from his chest to his next followed by gentle kisses. They found his neck and made him smile as she tickled him a little beneath his chin.

Her fingers wove a line up the side of his face combing through his whiskers and her lips kept a slow pace behind, shifting little to plant a kiss on the side of the Crown Prince's mouth. At last the tips of her nails began to trail a line along the rim of the scarlet patch. As he felt the soft velvet slip away from his skin he let out a small growl and his hand grabbed her by the wrist.

"No." He said hoarsely, good eye flicking open to look at her. She held a face that looked more sombre than it had right to be. Their lips brushed again briefly and she told him sincerely; "I am yours and you are mine. All of you. Even this." Her fingers brushed along the cloth-of-gold eye in the centre.

Bruce's voice was caught in his throat and his grip on her wrist slackened. "I… I can't bear it… Arianne… I couldn't bear it… if you were to… to see…" His voice had all but cracked and the tears were stinging at his good eye and the ruin beneath her fingertips. She cleared them with new kisses as best she could and squeezed her cunny around his manhood, to get his full attention. "I'll bear your children, Bruce," His stomach leapt. She'd never called him by his name before, "Let me help you bear this." Her fingers ghosted over the gold and red cloth again.

After a long silence he finally nodded and she pulled away the eye patch. If she was at all shocked by the magnitude of the damage, she didn't show. But what the Princess of Dorne did show was that she did not care for her husband's grievous wound. Arianne's soft lips pressed against the scarred flesh, as though doing it might heal the scarring. As she did so she threw away the red cloth work, scattering across the floor. "Never with me." She said, "Never wear it when you're with me." They were terms he could gladly accept.


	48. Arianne II

**iMessing: **Sir you do me a great honour by complimenting me such. Thank You.

**DraekonGreycloak:** We shall find out before long, though not quite yet.

**Saint River:** A few more chapters left before either I'm afraid. Thank you for such inspiring compliments.

**Archagel9418:** Thank You, makes you wonder how Joff will top it

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><p><strong><span>Arianne<span>**

It was a nice feeling, waking up beside your husband, if rather odd at first. Arianne always felt warm and calmed by the strong arms wrapped around her and the sound of the rising and falling of her husband's chest, though it had taken some getting used to. Two days after their wedding, the Princess of Dorne and the Crown Prince had both been shifted from their own rooms into one for them both. Arianne shifted in her lion's arms to cope a better look around it.

Far larger than her previous room had been it had been decorated in the deep crimson of house Lannister and fashioned with tapestries and curtains shinning with the bright orange of the Martells. The high ceiling and large windows in front of the balcony gave plenty of air to be let in and the hearth was large with the sun and spear of Dorne chiselled into the stone work above it, while beneath was a bear skin rug, a gift from one of the Lannister bannermen at their wedding. Myrish carpets covered the floor and would feel soft under the feet that Arianne would almost prefer lying on them to the bed.

Though she enjoyed their bed well enough, especially in the mornings. The sheets would smell of their love making from the night before and faint smears of blood would streak the white linen from the scratches put into the prince's back. Her husband was more than adequate in the bedchamber, any training he needed was minimal. He knew how to use his hands and mouth on her and where to find her sweet spot with both, though that had taken a good few hours practice.

But the biting was becoming a problem, he'd drawn blood from her shoulder last night and the night before she still bore the marks along her neck until midday. But she could live with the biting so long as he could live with the scratches. They both enjoyed marking each other it seemed and loved being marked twice as much.

The Princess of Dorne lifted herself from the bed and strong arms of her lover, who at the loss of contact sprawled himself out on his stomach. She smiled and laid a hand across the scars she'd left him, he'd need some balm for them. The way he slept surprised her. His snores were soft and came from deep within his throat, not the back of his mouth. The rise and falls of his chest kept in time with the beating of his heart, both keeping his body in perfect harmony. One of the few times he ever truly looked at peace was when he slept.

As much as she hated to, Arianne would needed to wake the slumbering Lion else he'd sleep all day if anyone would let him. Waking him was one of her favourite games to play, for she got to make all the rules. Arianne had begun to experiment the effect her body had on a sleeping Bruce some two mornings ago. Her lips and tongue had drawn out sweet groans and made the Crown Prince purr more like one of his little brother's house cats, rather than the great black lion he was. And her hands had gotten him laughing out of his sleep as she tickled under his chin, feet and armpits. She knew exactly how she would wake her sleeping lion this morning.

Arianne grabbed at some of the thick, black ringlets that curled across the top of her bare breasts and bunched it up. Then she brushed away the hairs that curtained her husband's ears and tickled them with her own, lazy curls. He shivered at the contact and Arianne felt their legs graze each other beneath the flowing silks and warm furs.

His reaction made her smile and shifted the hair to the base of his neck, right where the curls in his own hair began to curl. Again she brushed along his flesh with her long ringlets. He shivered and shifted a little burying the left of his face in their duck feather pillows, scattering some of his raven hairs to bracket across the right side of his head.

Now that she had him stirred the Princess of Dorne moved her hair to tickle at Bruce's bearded cheeks and closed eye. Just as she began to do so, her husband saw fit to release all his trapped wind beneath the sheets, sending some of the silk cloth visibly rippling. Arianne frowned at the act, but smiled when a muffled voice declared, "Your first and last warning."

The green eye slowly flickered open and looked up sleepily at her. She teased it with her hair again and laughed when his nosed twitched at it. "You want me to stop so soon?" She retorted, flicking her ringlets away so they might fall back down to her breasts, "I thought you were enjoying it. I know I was." Moving down to kiss him, she put all her weight on to an elbow to keep close to his warmth that fought away the coolness of early morning.

That look in his storm swept eye always made her swell with pride, a look he only gave her and only because of her. A dragon might have been peering in the window, and he would never have seen anything but her face, her smile, her breasts. His hand came up and touched her face, she felt his fingers trembling. "Your hands are shaking," she pointed out. "They would sooner be caressing me elsewhere, I think."

His hand did not fail her, trailing down to her breast to give a light squeeze. "There?" He asked casting a glance down between the sheets. Arianne shook her head and gave a sharp squeak when his fingers flicked at her nipple. "Lower." Breathed out the Princess of Dorne.

Her husband gave a throaty chuckle and drew south with his fingers to between her legs. The small circles drawn by Bruce around Arianne's nub elicited the sweetest moans from the Princess of Dorne. "There?" He asked again, pushing a finger into her while teasing her clit with his thumb. She croaked out a small, "Yes," and ground her hips against the friction of her husband's fingers.

"Tough." Declared the Crown Prince and removed his hands from her person, though not without a final squeeze of her teats. Arianne gave a whine at husband and the loss of contact between them. "You don't play fair." She told him, as he rolled away from her and put his face further into the pillows. "And you never let me get any bloody sleep." He shot back, voice muffled from the pillows and sheets.

He wasn't wrong, but then again it wasn't totally right either. She snuggled up close to him and asked, "Is it my fault you need a woman to keep you warm so much?" Her husband grunted something that sounded like a denial but then, after a moment, lifted his head from the pillow. "I need a woman to do more than keep me warm." He said and flopped his head back down. Arianne smiled. For one so tired he is quick to challenge her.

Beneath the sheets she shifted and straddled his back, to which Bruce groaned in response and shifted his head to its side. "Giddyup." Said Arianne squeezing her legs together, as if the action would actually get him moving. "I'm a lion not a horse." Clarified the Crown Prince. The Princess of Dorne gave a shrug, "You're not hung like a horse, I'll give you that much." His eye opened and gave her a look that was swept like cliffs in a storm.

"Has your pride been stung yet?" Asked Arianne hopefully. "No." If he was anymore stubborn he'd be made of stone. "I thought I was promised to a man of honour. One who would not play games with his wife, and pleasure her at every morning, moon and minute she asked." She bated with a grind of her hips against his back.

Bruce snorted. "Honour? That mad bitch? Aye. I know her. I know her too well. Her kisses left me bleeding, between her legs is naught but dust and her embrace damn near became my grave. Honour will never give me what I want." Arianne traced her fingers delicately across the scratches from the night before. "And what do you want?"

He bolted up at that, and the speed of it sent the Princess of Dorne flying backward across the bed. There was a fast scrambling of sheets, kicking and giggles as Bruce clawed for his wife. Arianne suddenly became aware of the bites and kisses being laid along her chest, moving quickly up to her face. Something pressed against her thigh, his cock or fingers, she thought but once her nipples were pinched and breasts squeezed she agreed upon his cock. The sheets and furs wrapped around them provided a perfect cocoon, being so warm, airy and soft.

Before long Arianne came face to face with her husband, who was now biting at her lips. She bit back with equal fervour and moaned into his mouth as his prick sheathed itself within her. He couldn't help himself, she knew. Dornishwomen were so wild and wanton themselves their lovers' could do nothing but let the heat of the southern sun claim them to, and the lion blood in Bruce's veins was quick to boil under the heat of a Princess from the same country.

"You," answered the Crown Prince, "I want you." Arianne had worked that much out from the pace he was setting. The clashing of their teeth and tongues, the squeezing of his hands on her hips, his husky growls deep from within the throat, this was more than wanting. He craved her, this was far more than wanting.

The Princess of Dorne nipped at his lips, throat, ear and shoulder, proving she craved him as much. With a gentle push she had him on his back again. Every time she ground her hips down he would buck his up to meet her. No Martell had ever ridden a lion of The Rock before and Arianne couldn't think why, she had never felt anything so good. So right.

Her uncle Oberyn had spent almost her entire life preaching of how evil the Lannisters were, of all their great crimes against Dorne and her people. Oberyn promised his niece that no Lannister would ever be good enough for her. That Bruce was the Usurper's blood, the blood that had risen to the Throne on the bodies of children and he would rule Tywin Lannister's precious Casterly Rock over the bodies of children as well.

He knew nothing. If he could feel anything close this, the rightness of it, the synch of the two beating hearts, Oberyn would know that he could be the only person good enough for her now. And Others take Elia's children, Bruce was no murderer. He was more like to avenge them for her than make more to join them if she asked him to.

Feeling her lion spend himself inside of her, coating her clenched walls with his cum, sent Arianne flying with him, back arched, eyes crossed and whole body tingling. If the gods could make such pleasure in this life Arianne shuddered at the thought of pleasure in the afterlife. Both let their eyes fall shut listening to the heavy pants of the other as their hearts beat in perfect synchronization.

How long they were like that Arianne hope she would never know, fear of it ending. She felt something brush against her cheek and nose and leaned into it, finding the touch and lips of her husband. Their kiss was soft and more full of their love than Arianne felt possible. His smell was so distinct to her now that the Princess of Dorne could not bear to part from it, He reeked of blood, sweat and toil.

"Do I have you then?" The words took her by surprise, she hadn't thought that either of them would be able to speak again. Her eyes finally opened and Arianne felt great pride in what she saw. The rugged raven hair curtaining his face, strong brow and chin softened to suit the look in his good eye, but it was the other eye that Arianne was watching. Her prize, his gift to her. The one part of him she would have that the rest of the world would never have. "Do you need to ask?"

He pressed his swollen lips to hers again but broke off all too quickly and threw the sheets away from them. "What?" She demanded leaning into him at the loss of decency. Bruce grunted and looked to the door. "Heard something." Arianne rolled off of him. Shuddering as he slipped out of her, the Princess wrapped the bedclothes around herself to guard her modesty.  
>The Crown Prince took from the bed, legs still shaking, and moved to the door warily. He opened the iron hinges and stuck his head out into the room on the other side. Arianne heard some quick muttering but it was incoherent to her. When Bruce turned back into the bedchamber he held a note of parchment hurriedly trying to unfold the paper to get the message written upon it.<p>

As he read it Arianne saw her husband's face turn into thunder. "What is it?" She asked timidly, as the note became scrunched up in his hands and his jaw tightened into iron.

"Yesterday, Loras Tyrell clashed with my uncle Stannis under the walls of Dragonstone," the mention of the Knight of Flowers sent a tremor through the room, "Tyrell's men were smashed and turned on him," Had he been killed then, had the Craven of Highgarden been dealt justice by the Lion's uncle, "He fled for King's Landing." He looked up and the black lifeless hole in the left of his head bore straight into her, and she was afraid.


	49. Jaime III

**Archagel9418/Saint River:** Sieging Edric Storm out of Storm's End, amongst other things

**greenstripe:** That's not such a bad moniker. I may have to steal it from you ;)

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><p><strong><span>Jaime<span>**

They'd ridden hard for the past day and a half, at Jaime's insistence. King's Landing was close now he could feel it. Everything he had longed these passed months for was there. Looking back on all that had happened to bring him here Jaime knew there was nothing to stop him now, even if he lost the other hand and a leg he would reach the capital no matter what.

When he saw the city before him, its watchtowers dark against the gathering dusk, Jaime Lannister cantered up to the lead Northman. He held a peace banner high in the air atop a lofty pike. "What's that awful stink?" the Northman complained.

Death, thought Jaime, but he said, "Smoke, sweat, and shit. King's Landing, in short. If you have a good nose you can smell the treachery too. You've never smelled a city before?" The man shook his head and turned back to the path they were taking. He would see Cersei soon, and Tyrion, and their father. His son's too and nephew with his new wife and one eye.

The Kingslayer winced at the thought of Bruce. He was Crown Prince now, and wed, as well as half blind. When Catelyn Stark had told him of the clash between Renly, Loras Tyrell and his nephew, Jaime hadn't believed her. The Lion with Antlers had been more of a son to him than Joffrey or Tommen and now they were both kingslayers together. Though it was worse for Bruce no doubt. Jaime had killed the Mad King, Bruce his youngest uncle, brave Renly the hero of the smallfolk. Killing his uncle had cost an eye and Gods help Tyrell when Bruce gets his hands on him.

Yet, his wedding had been nice enough, or so Jaime had heard from the innkeeper from the last tavern they had been fortunate enough to stay in. Men had been heard to have said that Arianne was Elia Martell come again. Jaime had almost been wed to Elia once. A sweet girl, true enough, but sickly and flat chested. If this new Dornish princess was anything like her aunt Jaime couldn't help but wonder who would be Lyanna Stark come again.

And Joffrey was king now, Seven help us all. His birth had been a messy thing, much like his reign. The boy had been a squalling pink thing who demanded too much of Cersei's time, Cersei's love, and Cersei's breasts. Robert had been welcome to have him as his own. He had a second son, after all, and seed enough for many more.

He turned abruptly and galloped back to find Brienne. Gods know why I bother. She is the least companionable creature I've ever had the misfortune to meet. The wench rode well behind and a few feet off to the side, as if to proclaim that she was no part of them. They had found men's garb for her along the way; a tunic here, a mantle there, a pair of breeches and a cowled cloak, even an old iron breastplate. She looked more comfortable dressed as a man, but nothing would ever make her look handsome. Nor happy.

Her usual pig-headed stubbornness had soon reasserted itself. "I want my arms and armour back," she had insisted. "Oh, by all means, let us have you back in steel," Jaime replied. "A helm, especially. We'll all be happier if you keep your mouth shut and your visor down."

The wench had been able to do that much at least. Her sullen silences soon began to fray his good humour almost as much as Qyburn's endless attempts to be ingratiating. I never thought I would find myself missing the company of his cousin Cleos Frey, gods help me. He was beginning to wish he had left her for the bear after all.

"King's Landing," Jaime announced when he found her. "Our journey's done, my lady. You've kept your vow, and delivered me to our glorious capital. All but a few fingers and a hand." Brienne's eyes were listless. "That was only half my vow. I told Lady Catelyn I would bring her back her daughters. Or Sansa, at the least. And now..."

Poor woman. She still grieved for Catelyn Stark. They had been at Brindlewood when they had that news, from a knight named Ser Bertram. A troop of Lord Piper's men had passed through Brindlewood only yesterday, Bertram told them, rushing to King's Landing beneath a peace banner of their own. "With the Young Wolf dead Piper saw no point to fighting on. His son is captive at the Twins." Brienne gaped like a cow about to choke on her food, so it fell to Jaime to draw out the tale of the Red Wedding.

Since that day Brienne had been as if she were half-dead. Even calling her "wench" failed to provoke any response. The strength is gone from her. "I'll speak to my father about returning you to Tarth, if it please you," he told her. "Or if you would rather stay, I could perchance find some place for you at court."

"As a lady companion to the queen?" she said dully. Jaime remembered the sight of her in that pink satin gown Karstark had put her in, and tried not to imagine what his sister might say of such a companion. "Perhaps a post with the City Watch..." Brienne's reply was vicious, "I will not serve with oath breakers and murderers." Then why did you ever bother putting on a sword? He might have said, but he bit back the words. "As you will, Brienne." One-handed, he wheeled his horse about and left her.

The Gate of the Gods was open when they reached it, but two dozen wayns were lined up along the roadside, loaded with casks of cider, barrels of apples, bales of hay, and some of the biggest pumpkins Jaime had ever seen. Jaime smiled at them all as he trotted past. At the gate, the gold cloaks were collecting coin from each driver before waving the wagons through. "What's this?" he asked the captain of the gold cloaks.

"They got to pay for the right to sell inside the city. By command of the King's Hand and the master of coin." Jaime looked at the long line of box burdened carts and laden horses. "Yet they still line up to pay?" "There's good coin to be made here now that the fighting's done," the miller in the nearest wagon told them cheerfully. "It's the Lannisters hold the city now, old Lord Tywin of the Rock. They say he shits silver." Jaime and the Northmen snorted. "Gold," he corrected dryly. "And Littlefinger mints the stuff from goldenrod, I vow."

"The Imp is master of coin now," said the captain of the gate, before looking them all over suspiciously, "Who are you lot?" The one with the peace banner answered him quickly. "Lord Bolton's men, come to see the King's Hand." The captain glanced at the peace banner. "Come to bend the knee, you mean. You're not the first. Go straight up to the castle, and see you make no trouble." He waved them through and turned back to the wagons.

King's Landing looked to be no different from when he was last here, aside from an influx of food and men-at-arms. Gangs of Lannister red cloaks meandered through the crowds of the peasantry, quietly hoping to stamp out trouble wherever they might find it. A beggar shouted loud prayers in the name of King Joffrey's long and bountiful reign, but the passers-by paid him no heed.

Elsewhere milled the usual crowds; gold cloaks in their black mail, bakers' boys selling tarts and breads and hot pies, whores leaning out of windows with their bodices half unlaced, gutters radiated the stench of shit. They passed five men trying to drag a dead horse from the mouth of an alley, and elsewhere a juggler spinning knives through the air to delight a throng of drunken Tyrell soldiers and small children.

"Lannisters hold the city now." The miller at the gate had said. To Jaime, it didn't seem like it. The green and gold of Highgarden was plastered everywhere and the few scant places it wasn't lay the bright red and orange of Sunspear. Riding down familiar streets with two dozen Northmen, a chainless maester, and an ugly freak of a woman at his side, Jaime found he scarcely drew a second look. He did not know whether he ought to be amused or annoyed. "They do not know me," he said to himself as they rode through Cobbler's Square. My face is changed, and my arms as well. And they have a new Kingslayer now.

The gates to the Red Keep were shut and Jaime could see dozens of gold and red cloaks guarding the walls, only scarce few had crossbows the rest must have been put their for show or lookout. One of them looked down at them and took off into the gatehouse, whilst those that had them pointed crossbows in their direction. When the one gold cloak returned from the gatehouse he was followed by two others, one taller, and with something golden drooped across his head and shoulders, the other in a white cloak.

"Show us your colours!" Shouted the tallest of the three men. Jaime smiled when he recognised the voice. "Open the gate, Bruce! Before I show your arse my boot!" He shouted back up the walls of the Red Keep. There was a long pause before there came a surprised shout of, "Uncle?!" Before Jaime could shout back up his nephew had already taken back into the gatehouse while crying, "Open the gate!"

Following the clinking of iron chains and creaking of heavy hinges, they came trotting into the courtyard. A few men that looked to be from Dorne looked at them warily as they came into the keep, as did the Reachmen on the opposite side of the yard. Jaime had scarcely gotten down from his horse before a voice boomed into the yard, "You bastard!"

He whirled around quickly to the voice and saw his nephew stalking fast toward him, razor sharp grin flashing. Bruce wore the lion skin that had become typical of him since he killed the beast it had come from and the crimson and gold of House Lannister, while thick black whiskers guarded his cheeks and chin. Before Jaime knew it his only nephew was hugging him and the white knight became fully aware that Bruce now towered above, just like his father before him.

Jaime patted him on the back with his stump and pushed him away with his good hand. "You've gotten taller." The Kingslayer commented, looking up at his nephew. It was then Jaime caught a good look of his nephew's eye, shielded in scarlet cloth and the golden cat's eye starring ominously down at him.

"And married." The Crown Prince added, hoping to catch his uncle off guard, but Jaime was better informed than his nephew had hoped. "Indeed you are. To the Martell girl. Sorry I could not be at the wedding." Bruce's eye narrowed down at him, his ploy having failed, and smiled a little wider. "You're here now, that much will do for me." Said the younger Lannister, clapping Jaime on the shoulder.

It was then Jaime looked back at the white cloak who'd been following Bruce. "Ser Arys, good to see you again." His sworn brother bowed to him a little. "And you, Lord Commander, it will be an honour to serve at your side again." Arys was perhaps the most honourable of all the kingsguard, a gentleman among thieves Jaime always told Tyrion and Bruce.

From a ways back came a second white cloak approached; one who had not worn white when Jaime last served here. How like Cersei to name me Lord Commander and then choose my colleagues without consulting me. "Someone has given me a new brothers, I see." The knight bowed his head too him "I have that honour, ser." Balon Swann shone so fine and pure in his white scales and silk that Jaime felt a tattered and tawdry thing by contrast.

Jaime moved to shake Ser Balon's hand, but old habits die hard. "Your hand..." He recoiled at the stump of Jaime's right hand, and the Lord Commander made himself smile. "I fight with my left now. It makes for more of a contest. Where will I find my lord father?" Bruce gave a timid, "Seven Hells." At the stump before answering, "In his solar with Tyrion."

Lord Tywin and the Imp chewing the fat together? Strange, but these were strange times they lived in. "Is your mother with them as well?" Bruce shook his head. "No she'll be with Joff and Lady Margaery. Planning for his wedding has beco-"

"You!" Shouted Brienne from out of nowhere.

The last of the Northmen had dismounted, Jaime saw, and now Brienne had seen Renly's killer. Perhaps Jaime should have had the Northmen wait outside. "Me?" Said Bruce, looking questioningly at the Tarth woman. "You killed my king!" The Crown Prince looked at Jaime brow furrowed. "Who is this? And how does she know me?"

"Brienne of Tarth. One of Renly's kingsguard." He told his nephew. At the information Bruce became torn between surprise and something Jaime could not fathom. "He was your uncle! Your own blood and a true king!" Screeched the wench at the Young Lion, "You will tell me why. He treated you kindly, never spoke ill of you. Swore to make you his heir. Why would you kill him?"

Jaime saw his nephew bristle at Brienne's words. "You think I did so willingly? I did it because he would have done the same to me and my brothers and half the city had I not." Jaime had said much the same to Brienne of when he killed Targaryen. The calm Bruce kept surprised Jaime, he was not the only one changed by the war.

"A true king, you say? Would a true king rise up against the Crown in a time of crisis? Would a true king split the realm in two for his own ambitions? Would a true king come from the fifth in line to the throne? You say he was a true king because he was young and charming enough to have his own way. He was clever to take the right chances and gambled on all the right bets except the important ones. And Gods damn the man for forcing me to do him in for Joff's sake. Now sheathe your bloody sword, or I'll take it from you and shove it up some place Renly wouldn't find even if you showed him."

Always a prickly lad, Jaime mused. Brienne backed down from him and the Lord Commander turned to his new sworn brother. "Ser Balon, escort Lady Brienne and my companions to suitable quarters for, until such time as my father can see them." Brienne's big blue eyes were sullen and full of hurt as Balon Swann and a dozen gold cloaks led her away. You ought to be blowing me kisses, wench, he wanted to tell her. "Grandfather will want to see you." Damn you Bruce, it's your mother I want to see not your grandfather. "Very well then," Jaime told him, "Lead on."

The Tower of the Hand was guarded by Lannister household guards, who knew him at once. "The gods are good, to give you back to us, ser," one said, as he held the door for the two Lannisters. The gods had no part in it. Catelyn Stark gave me back, for all the good Tywin Lannister's escape attempts did.

Lord Tywin was alone, for which Jaime was thankful. He had no desire to flaunt his maimed hand for his little brother to see, let alone anyone else. "Jaime." Lord Tywin said, as if they'd last seen each other at breakfast. "Do you want me to stay, grandfather?" asked Bruce. "Yes. I would have a word with you after your uncle." The Crown Prince remained close to the door, while Jaime moved to the fire.

"How long have you known I was free?" Jaime had heard of the raiding parties in the Riverlands, shouting "Kingslayer!" as they galloped up and down the river road. "The eunuch told me a few days after your escape. I sent men into the Riverlands to look for you. Gregor Clegane, your uncle, Kevan, and ser Ilyn. Varys put out the word as well, but quietly. We agreed that the fewer people who knew you were free, the fewer would be hunting you."

"Did Varys mention this?" He raised his right hand, to let his father see. Lord Tywin pushed himself out of his chair, breath hissing between his teeth. "Who did this? If Lady Catelyn—" Jaime was quick to cut his father off. "Lady Catelyn held a sword to my throat and made me swear to return her daughters. This was Rickard Karstark's work. He felt Willem, Cleos, Tion and Martyn did not wash out his sons' blood well enough."

Lord Tywin looked away, disgusted. "Karstark will spill no more Lannister blood. Ser Gregor's taken the castle and put everyone inside to the sword. Some did manage to flee, though." They'll make for ports, I'll warrant, or try and lose themselves in the woods." His eyes went back to Jaime's stump, and his mouth grew taut with fury. "We'll have their heads. Every one. Can you use a sword with your left hand?"

I can hardly dress myself in the morning. Jaime held up the hand in question for his father's inspection. "Four fingers, a thumb, much like the other. Why shouldn't it work as well?" His father sat. "Good. That is good." Lord Tywin glanced at Jaime's stump again, as though there was nothing better to look at. "You cannot serve in the Kingsguard without a sword hand—"

Jaime's jaw tightened. "I can," he interrupted. "And I will. There's precedent. I'll look in the White Book and find it, if you like. Crippled or whole, a knight of the Kingsguard serves for life."

"Cersei ended that when she replaced Ser Barristan on grounds of age. A suitable gift to the Faith will persuade the High Septon to release you from your vows. Your sister was foolish to dismiss Selmy, admittedly, but now that she has opened the gates—"

"—someone needs to close them again." Jaime stood. "I am tired of having highborn women kicking pails of shit at me, Father. No one ever asked me if I wanted to be Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, but it seems I am. I have a duty—"

"You do." Lord Tywin rose as well. "A duty to House Lannister. You are the heir to Casterly Rock. That is where you should be. Tommen should accompany you, as your ward and squire. The Rock is where he'll learn to be a Lannister, and I want him away from his mother." Did his father have any sympathy for the man by the door or was he just being ignorant, Jaime wondered, thinking of the last prince of the realm to go to Casterly Rock.

"No. No. No. No. No. How many times must I say no before you'll hear it? Bruce is heir to Casterly Rock, he's the only one aside from Tyrion who can be Lord of it after you're gone. I am a knight of the Kingsguard. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard! And that's all I mean to be!"

Firelight gleamed golden in the stiff whiskers that framed Lord Tywin's face. A vein pulsed in his neck, but he did not speak. And did not speak. And did not speak. The strained silence went on until it was more than Jaime could endure. "You are not my son." Lord Tywin turned his face away. "You say you are the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and only that. Very well, ser. Go do your duty."

Gladly, thought Jaime, as he turned and made for the door. Bruce stepped in front to block his way, but Lord Tywin called for him to stop. "Let him go, Bruce. The Lord Commander will be tired after his long journey." The Crown Prince looked to Jaime for dismissal not Lord Tywin. When he received the nod, Bruce begrudgingly stepped aside.

Jaime let the door bang shut behind him. Gods, he needed Cersei more than ever now.


End file.
